A Midsummer Night's Chaos
by Kenya Starflight
Summary: An Eye of the Storm story. Luke and Trapper go to the movies, Boba Fett accepts a contract on an unusual bounty hunt, and Darth Vader gets drafted into a most unpleasant assignment... babysitting.
1. Summer Heat

**A Midsummer Night's Chaos**

**Kenya Starflight**

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place during the events of "Eye of the Storm," after Luke, Fett, and Vader's crash-landing on Earth but before Leia and Han's arrival. After all, you don't think our intergalactic friends didn't get into ANY trouble while on Earth, do you?_

**Chapter 1 – Summer Heat**

Maybe it was a fluke of the weather. Maybe the drought that had gripped southern Idaho and Oregon for years had spread its tentacles down the country to embrace Colorado. Maybe the Stardestroyer that was orbiting Earth was somehow creating adverse effects on the atmosphere and meteorology of the unsuspecting planet.

Whatever the cause, everyone agreed that this had to be the hottest day Star City had ever seen. It was only ten A.M., and the mercury had already risen to almost a hundred degrees with no sign of stopping.

The natives were smart about the weather, at least. They kept indoors next to the A/C or swamp cooler, wore reasonable clothing for the temperature, and/or found ways to keep themselves damp – a dunk in the pool, a cold shower, or even resorting to giving the car or family dog a bath. Some retreated to White Deer Lake to escape; others opted to go farther and retreated to the mountains. And even the stingiest souls in town suddenly found themselves parting with their cash in exchange for a cold beverage, an ice cream cone, or spending a few hours in an air-conditioned theater or bowling alley.

It was the tourists that were suffering. On almost every street corner one could spot a costumed Stargeek clutching a sweating can of soda to his forehead or fanning himself with a comic book. Spots in the shade were suddenly prime real estate, and any storeowner whose storefront had an awning found himself periodically chasing away geeks who were congregating there and scaring away their customers. Star City natives had little sympathy for the fans – it was one thing to feel sorry for someone required to wear a heavy uniform in such weather, another to waste one's pity on someone who ought to know better than to wear woolen robes or plastic armor in 100+ degree heat.

Such sympathy would be better afforded to those that deserved it – namely homeowners and the cops. Geeks were suddenly turning up in people's yards, in sprinklers, swimming pools, stock tanks, and – in one bizarre case – a koi pond. The fountain in front of the convention center became a nightmare – no sooner would the police drag a gaggle of Jedi wannabes and stormtrooper look-alikes out of the fountain and read them their rights than half a dozen more costumed geeks would be found taking a dip. The police department was overwhelmed with complaints and demands to "get that kid in the stupid Kenobi costume out of my birdbath!"

And as if that wasn't bad enough, the cops had to send a boat out into White Deer Lake to fish out an idiot who'd jumped from the dock in full Jango Fett regalia.

"Almost became a Darwin Award nominee," Austin told Luke as he stuffed a spiral notebook into his briefcase. "He's lucky to be alive, if you ask me. That lake's claimed a lot of lives over the years."

"Where are you going, Dad?" asked Trapper, looking up from the couch where he and Luke were playing "Star Wars Demolition."

"To cover the accident at the lake for the Herald," Austin replied. "Interview the cops and park rangers, see if the hospital will talk about the guy's condition…"

"I thought you were just a columnist for the paper," Luke said, wincing as his character took a nasty blow.

"I'm a syndicated columnist," Austin replied. "But occasionally the paper asks me to cover a story that has a geek angle to it." He stuffed his wallet into the pocket of his slacks. "Not that I mind – any story that involves a guy in Mandalorian armor taking a plunge in the lake has to be interesting."

"Very interesting," Luke acknowledged.

"You two behave yourselves," Austin told them. "I left some cash on the table, you can use that to go to a movie and lunch, or whatever you want to do. I'll be back this afternoon sometime, not sure when."

"Oh, speaking of syndicates, they called this morning while you were in the shower," Trapper piped up. "Some paper in Indiana wants to pick up 'Life as a Geek,' I guess."

"That's wonderful!" Austin exclaimed. "Did they say anything else?"

"Yeah, that they want to meet with you at the Twilight Garden restaurant in Denver tonight to discuss some kind of book deal with a publisher."

"Ah," was all Austin said.

"Book deal?" inquired Luke.

"They've been bugging me to put some of my columns into a published collection," Austin replied. "I was hoping to put off negotiating that until summer was over…" He gazed longingly at Trapper.

"Dad, I'll be fine," Trapper assured him. "I'll understand if you can't be with me every day this summer. Trust me."

Austin smiled wanly. "Sorry. Just that I don't get a lot of time with you, and I hate anything that cuts into our time."

"I hate it too. But hey, I have Luke Skywalker to keep me company."

Austin laughed. "See you boys sometime tonight, then. There's leftover lasagna in the fridge for dinner. Trapper, if I'm not home by nine, go to bed. Understand?"

"Yes sir!" Trapper barked, saluting.

"See you later, Austin," Luke bade as Austin shut the door behind him.

Trapper tossed the video game controller to the floor and bent forward to turn off the TV. "So whadda you wanna do?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Nothing that involves running around," Trapper groaned. "Not in this heat."

"Funny, doesn't feel that hot to me."

"Yeah, but you grew up on Tatooine. That's like being raised in an oven."

Luke laughed. "Any suggestions?"

Trapper shrugged. "The Eagle Mountain Theater has a matinee of 'Spy Kids' at eleven, if you wanna see it."

"'Spy Kids.' Sounds interesting. All right, I'll bite. Let's go."

Trapper scooped the two twenties off the table. "It's only five blocks. We can walk."

_Break…_

"It's too hot," moaned Patrick.

"Now I know how Vader felt when he got chucked into that volcano," groaned Jason.

"You two should talk," grumbled Fett. "You're not in full armor."

"Then take it off or shut your yap," advised Jason. Normally he would never have spoken so disrespectfully to the hunter, but the searing weather had also scorched his already short temper almost into nonexistence.

Fett might have retorted by cuffing him, but he was too wiped out to care.

The Osmond brothers and Boba Fett were sprawled on the couch in the brothers' spacious but cluttered house, panting with the heat. The air conditioner in the house had died clear back in May, and neither brother had arranged to have the machine fixed – each was probably waiting for the other to take responsibility. To beat the heat, Jason and Patrick had stripped down to their boxers and poured glasses of ice water over their heads. Fett flatly refused to remove his armor, and thus he had little control over his situation.

"Let's get up and do something," suggested Patrick.

"Like what?" asked Jason. "Jump a ride to Hoth?"

"I was being serious," Patrick replied.

"So was I. Now that we know Hoth exists… oh, I forget, Fett's ship doesn't work. Uh… we can go bowling down at the Star City Lanes…"

"You're on lifetime suspension, remember?" Patrick reminded him. "The coconut incident?"

"Is it my fault the manager has no sense of humor?" demanded Jason. "What about the lake? We can rent a few jet skis…"

"After you tried to jump a dock on a rental ski?" Patrick asked incredulously. "Talk about a lawsuit. The rental shack won't even return our calls anymore."

"Okay, why not call Cody and Brigham and see if they're up to a trip to the hills with us?" asked Jason. "You know, hang out with the wildlife in the mountains."

"Except you're practically on a first-name basis with every park ranger in the state," Patrick countered.

"All right, Einstein, YOU think of something for us to do!"

"Well, there would be something for us to do if it wasn't for you and your lust for causing trouble!" Patrick shot back. Normally easygoing, the heat seemed to be melting even his patience.

"Is it my fault that this town is half-dead nine months out of the year? A guy's got to have fun…"

"Well, have your fun, but don't drag me into it…"

The doorbell rang. Fett rose with a grunt and went to answer the door – hey, anything to get away from the Osmonds when they started another of their spats.

An old woman in a sky-blue cardigan and matching skirt stood on the other side of the door, looking up at the hunter with wide, sad hazel eyes that looked larger than normal behind her wire-rimmed glasses. She clutched a small purse before her like a shield, and her silver-white hair fluffed out around her head in a snowy halo. The sight of Fett didn't startle her – but then, living in this town, she must be used to things like this.

"What is it?" Fett rasped.

"Jason?" she asked.

"He's… indisposed at the moment. I'll relay a message…"

"Oh. Well, I thought you were him in costume… is Patrick there?"

"He's also occupied. I'm a friend from out of town, Robert Francis."

"Hello, Robert." She leaned to the side in an effort to peer into the house. "I'm the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Albany. I was just stopping by to see if any of you have seen my Vincent."

"Vincent?" Jason and Patrick hadn't mentioned a next-door neighbor or a Vincent. "Ma'am, I haven't seen your husband…"

"Oh no, my husband's name is Jerry, and he's been dead for years." She reached into her purse and drew out a flat image. "This is my sweet little Vincent – but he's registered as Vincent Van Gough, a purebred Siamese."

_/I should have guessed/ _thought Fett, studying the picture. It depicted a large, svelte, ivory-and-brown cat with slightly crooked green eyes and a rather irritated expression – not surprising since the picture showed him being hugged awkwardly by a grinning, drooling child he assumed was Mrs. Albany's grandson.

"Ma'am, I haven't seen your cat."

Tears filled her eyes. "I live alone, sir. My children all live out of state. I only see my grandchildren at Thanksgiving and at the family reunion in August. Vincent's all I have to keep me company, and he's been missing for three days now. He's never been gone this long, and I'd hate to think he's been… please, young man, will you help me find him?"

Fett sighed. "I'd help you, Mrs. Albany, but I have no idea where to start looking for a cat…"

"I'd be willing to offer a reward," she said quietly. "I don't have much – I live on a fixed income…"

Fett closed his eyes and thought a minute. It's a diversion, he told himself. With a reward tacked onto it, he could think of it as another hunt, another job. Besides, how hard could it be to find a mangy cat in this town?

"Twenty says it's a deal," he told her, pocketing the picture. "I'll find your cat, Mrs. Albany."

She burst into tears. "Oh, thank you, young man! You're an angel!"

"Just a simple man trying to make my way in the world," he assured her gruffly, shutting the door.

The brothers were still arguing when he entered the living room, pondering. Where to find someone's pet… He knew that in most civilized areas of the galaxy, lost pets went by the unglamorous title of "target practice." Some of the more conservative cities that could afford it, however, set themselves to humanely trapping strays and containing them in shelters for their owners to retrieve or for other citizens to adopt. If someone had happened upon Vincent before him, they might have taken him to just such a shelter.

"Patrick, where do you two keep the telephone directory?" he asked.

"In the cupboard over the microwave, next to the Hamburger Helper," Patrick interrupted his harangue to answer.

Fett located the book, flipped it open, and skimmed the Government Resources pages. The Star City Humane Society wasn't that far, he discovered. If luck was on his side, his mission could be completed in the time it took to walk there. Then again, hunts were rarely this simple.

_Break…_

Diana took one last cautionary look into the living room to ensure Rachel would be all right while she stepped into the shower. Some might call her actions overprotective or even paranoid, but she wasn't going to risk her daughter's safety just so she could cool off. She needn't have worried, though – Rachel was alternately occupied by the television (playing a "Monster's Inc." DVD) and her toys. Right now she was pushing a pink Barbie Corvette across the carpet and toward the Dreamhouse in one corner, though rather than the typical Barbie-Ken duo, the vehicle housed Barbie and a Qui-gon Jinn figure.

"Now into the house with you," Rachel told the two figures as she stopped the car and pulled the Qui-gon figure out, setting him in the living room of the dollhouse. "And wash your hands before you eat, because you've been touching yukky stuff on the battlefield, mister!"

Diana chuckled at the tone of stern authority Rachel could muster when she tried, and she shut the bathroom door. Conrad frequently indulged their daughter's Star Wars fascination by giving her action figures – either his old figures or buying new ones – while Diana tried to encourage her to play with toys girls her age would normally play with. Their efforts created an unusual blend of imagination in their daughter, and it was common to see her arranging Star Wars figures in humorously domestic scenes.

She sighed as she undressed and turned on the shower. It was too bad that Rachel had so few friends. Her imagination was wonderfully vivid, but even that couldn't replace the opportunities close friends could provide. And seeing as she had no siblings – she wouldn't let her thoughts travel too far down that road – she was often starved for the company of other children. There was Trapper, but he was four years older and wasn't in town that often. Hopefully things would change when their daughter entered kindergarten that fall…

The bathroom door opened.

She expected to see Rachel at the door, and turned to chide her daughter for walking in without knocking… only to find herself face to face with Darth Vader.

Diana screamed.

"My apologies…" Vader began, only for his sentence to be cut off as the shampoo bottle smashed into his mask. The door slammed, leaving Diana alone in the bathroom.

She sat down on the edge of the bathtub a moment, trying to settle her breathing. Vader so rarely made his presence known that sometimes they completely forgot he was their houseguest. Most days they only saw him at meals… or the occasional unexpected run-in, such as this one.

There was a timid knock at the door.

"Who's there?" she asked nervously.

"You okay, Mommy?" came Rachel's anxious voice from the other side of the door. "Why are you screaming?"

"I'm okay, sweetie," she replied. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Okay. What's for lunch?"

She chuckled. "You think about what you'd like, okay?"

"Okay." A pause. "Darth Vader's in the kitchen washing his face."

"Just leave him alone for awhile, Rachel."

"Okay."

Diana finished her shower as quickly as possible, then dressed and wrapped a towel around her hair before leaving the bathroom. Rachel was sitting at the dining room table, walking two stormtrooper figures across the surface and chattering softly to herself. Vader was at the kitchen sink, wiping the last of the shampoo from his mask and helmet.

"Lord Vader?" Diana said tentatively.

"Vader," he replied, turning to the laundry chute and tossing the dishcloth down it. "It is no longer necessary to refer to me as 'Lord.'"

"Vader… I'm sorry about the little… incident…"

He waved her apology away. "The fault is mine. You reacted as any woman in your situation would have."

Diana blushed. "I'll be sure to lock the door next time."

"That would be appreciated." He entered the bathroom and shut the door.

Diana didn't comment. Vader did go into the bathroom on occasion, but she never listened too closely to what went on in there. Maybe some of the others might be curious about how Vader took care of his "business," but she preferred the don't-ask-don't-tell approach.

The phone rang, and she lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Church," came Emily's voice. "How's life?"

"It's… interesting," she replied.

"You called me this morning? Sorry I missed it, I was online."

"Yes, can we still count on you to babysit for us tonight?"

"Babysit Rachel or babysit Darth Vader?"

She laughed. "Vader'll most likely keep out of sight. Thanks again for doing this for us."

"No problem, have fun at your dinner tonight. See you at six."

She hung up. Conrad's construction company had just finished putting an Outback Steakhouse on Star City's main street, and the restaurant was honoring the company by inviting the employees and their spouses to a free dinner tonight. Despite being a small town, Star City attracted a lot of large chain businesses, mostly due to the double conventions every year and the tourists they drew. Of course, once summer was over and the tourists went home, business dried up and many of the stores that had just opened their doors that summer closed down. Come the next summer, the empty buildings would be renovated or razed, to be replaced by more franchises whose corporations still hadn't learned their lessons the first time around.

Oh well. At least the quirks of the local economy ensured that her husband had a steady job. And if a large company chose to waste its money by building here, that was their problem.

"How 'bout mac 'n' cheese and hot dogs for lunch?" asked Rachel. "That's my favorite."

"Okay, we can do that." Diana went to the stove.


	2. New Friends and First Loves

**Chapter 2 – New Friends and First Loves**

Going to the movies to escape the heat seemed like a good idea at the time – except that several dozen geeks seemed to have gotten the same idea at the same time. The theater was so crammed with sweating, irritable Stargeeks that Luke wondered if perhaps it would have been wiser to remain at Austin's house and simply pop in a DVD with the A/C turned all the way up.

"Why is it that, whenever you get in line for a movie, everyone in front of you will either be trying to book the entire theater or want to pick a fight with the ticket salesman?" grumbled the Jedi Padawan lookalike just behind Luke.

"I'm just getting two seats," Luke told him, trying to be helpful. "And I'm not looking for a fight."

"Well, you're the only one then," the man snorted, as the sandtrooper at the head of the line began cursing loudly.

Trapper shifted restlessly. "Maybe we should have gone out for lunch first. I'm starving."

"Tell you what," Luke replied. "The 'Spy Kids' matinee at eleven is sold out. The next showing doesn't open for an hour and a half. You hold our place in line and pay for the tickets. I'll go get us some lunch, and we can eat outside while we wait for our show. Deal?"

"Deal," Trapper agreed, handing Luke a twenty. "I want a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a Pepsi. Don't get me a kid's meal please. There's never enough food in them for me, and I hate the cheapo toys."

"I'll remember." He turned and walked out as the sandtrooper continued his argument – that as he had been born on February 29th, a leap year, he had only celebrated five birthdays and therefore qualified for the children's price.

Quite in contrast with the theater, the A & W restaurant two doors down was almost empty, despite the fact that it was the lunch rush. Apparently the hot weather had killed most people's appetites for fried food. Aside from a gaggle of women in Padme Amidala costumes sipping root beer floats at a corner booth and a lone Darth Vader impersonator up front, the place was deserted.

"We're open, I swear!" the manager, a thirty-something brunette woman, pleaded as Luke entered the restaurant.

"I believe you," Luke replied as he strode up to the counter. The fake Vader was standing at the register, but he seemed more interested in the copy of the "Star City Herald" he was reading than in placing an order. The man behind the register seemed to be getting impatient with him.

"Sir, please place your order," the employee told him in a plainly annoyed voice "There's another customer waiting behind you." To Luke he said, "I'm sorry he's taking so long. I can help you next, if you're ready to order…"

"That's okay, I'll wait."

"You're sure?"

"It's perfectly fine."

"Right." He turned back to the false Vader. "Sir, either order or get out of line!" he shouted.

Luke shook his head. True, it wasn't exactly polite for the costumed gentleman to be blocking traffic, especially in a fast-food restaurant line, but the employee could handle him with a little more tact.

"Sir?" Luke asked, gently shaking the man's shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt your reading, but are you going to order?"

The Vader impersonator turned and looked first at Luke, then at the cashier, his expression indiscernible behind his helmet. He shook his head slightly, picked up a notepad from the counter, and wrote something down. When he'd finished, he handed the pad to Luke.

_/I'm so sorry for holding up the line/ _the message read. _/I didn't realize the women had ordered already. I didn't catch what you said. I'm deaf. I can read lips. Just please make sure I can see your face clearly when you speak./_

Luke understood immediately. The man had been so engrossed in the paper that he hadn't seen the women finish their order and leave, and of course he couldn't hear either their departure or the employee's angry demands to place his own order. He gave the notepad back to the man and faced him.

"I'm sorry," he said carefully. "I didn't realize…"

The man waved his apology away.

"Is he going to order?" the employee demanded.

"Be patient with him," Luke ordered. "He's deaf."

The cashier's face flushed a brilliant crimson. "Oh," he said in an extremely subdued voice. "Uh… well… I don't know sign language…"

The man composed another note and handed it to the employee – an order for a number five meal, no onions. The cashier rang it in as swiftly as possible and swiped the offered debit card.

Luke picked up a pen and wrote something else on the pad. _/I'll let you know when you're order's up. Very pleased to meet you, by the way. My name's Nick Sorenson./_

As the man read the message, Luke placed his own order – bacon cheeseburger with fries and Pepsi for Trapper, a cheeseburger with onion rings and a root beer float for himself.

"Tell him sorry for me," the employee said lamely, handing over his change.

"You can tell him yourself," Luke suggested. "He doesn't need a go-between."

"Ryan, can I have a word with you?" the manager asked, ushering the cashier into the back. Luke had a feeling that Ryan may have put his job in jeopardy for treating this customer so rudely. He felt some sympathy for the man… but not that much.

The false Vader handed the notepad back, and Luke read the message:

_/What a coincidence! My name's Nick too! I'm Nick Staples. I just moved here a month ago, and I love this town. Thank you for your help, it's really appreciated./_

_/Not a problem, Nick/ _Luke wrote back. He wasn't quite used to his alias yet, but maybe the novelty of sharing a "name" with Nick would help it sink in.

_/Are you from around here/ _asked Nick via notepad. _/Or are you just here for the conventions/_

_/Just visiting for the conventions/ _he replied. _/I'm from…/ _He paused a moment, thinking, then picked a location he'd overheard somewhere. _/…Snowflake, Arizona./_

_/Really? I have grandparents there. Beautiful country. You must be used to this heat, then./_

_/Believe me, it gets hotter than this where I live./ _At least that was the truth.

_/I moved here from up in the Northwest – Newport, Oregon. I grew up on the coast, actually. I've always loved the ocean. But sometimes you just need a change of scenery for a while. Make any sense to you/_

_/Actually, it does./_

"Order up for Nick, number five, no onion!" announced the manager.

Luke picked up the tray and handed it to Nick. "Nice talking with you," he said, being sure to look into his face as he spoke. "Maybe I'll see you later."

Nick set his tray down and wrote something else: _/Hope to see you later, too. I have to meet a friend at the theater for the twelve-thirty showing of 'Spy Kids.' Maybe we can chat after the show./_

_/Hey, I'm going to be at that showing too/ _Luke wrote back. _/What a coincidence./_

Nick nodded enthusiastically. _/Sit by me during the show/_

_/Sure. I'll see you then./_

"To-go order for Nick!" the manager announced. "You two cousins?"

Luke laughed as he took the bags and drinks. "Just friends, ma'am."

"Well, you tell your friend we're sorry for how he was treated here, and he's welcome to a complimentary meal anytime," she replied, handing him a card.

"Will do." He passed the card to Nick, who nodded and gave the manager a polite wave.

Trapper was sitting on a bench outside the theater when Luke came back, fanning himself with a folded-up "USA Today" and giving Luke a pitiful look.

"What took you so long?" he asked. "I'm melting out here."

"If you think this is hot, try Anchorhead at summer solstice," Luke retorted, handing him his food. As Trapper dug in, he related his conversation with Nick Staples.

"Huh," Trapper grunted through a mouthful of fried potato after Luke was finished. "Never heard of a deaf Star Wars fan before. Pretty cool. Wish I could've met him."

"He'll be in the theater with us, and he wants us to sit by him."

"Awesome!" He unwrapped his burger. "You always make such cool friends, Luke – Han Solo, Princess Leia, Chewbacca, Yoda, and now this guy. Wish I were you."

_/Be careful what you wish for, young one/ _Luke thought as he sank his teeth into an onion ring.

_Break…_

Fett had no luck with the Humane Society. There were no Siamese cats there, and no one had reported bringing one in for at least two weeks. A man stopping by to retrieve his dog did mention seeing a road kill cat on the highway that matched Vincent's description, but upon further questioning Fett determined that the corpse had been rotting for much longer than Vincent had been missing.

"We'll give you a call if anyone brings one in," he was told.

He left Jason and Patrick's home number and went on his way. It was time to search Mrs. Albany's property and the surrounding neighborhood. That was the first rule of any hunt – look in the most obvious places first for one's quarry, such as residences and places of employment. Fett couldn't count the number of times he had uncovered valuable clues or even captured remarkably stupid targets in such a manner.

Mrs. Albany was rather surprised to find Fett on her doorstep. "Did you find him?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "I'd like to have a look around your house. Perhaps we can find something to indicate where your cat went."

Half an hour later, the two of them had uncovered a long-missing diamond earring, a ratty catnip toy, and long-expired tickets to a performance of "Miss Saigon," but nothing else of interest. Vincent's food dish and litter box had obviously been untouched for the last few days. At Fett's insistence Mrs. Albany led him outside to search for more clues.

"I try to keep him out of the forest," she offered. "But sometimes he comes home with something he's caught out there… last week it was a live bull snake, scared me half to death…"

He crouched to inspect some tracks in a flowerbed, three-day-old paw prints weaving between the drooping, heat-stricken tulips. Tiny pads, no claw marks, the prints forming almost a straight line in classic cat gait… all signs that a cat passed through here. It could be Vincent, or it could be a neighbor's cat or a stray. But it was the best lead he had.

_/Well, I know what direction he went/ _he thought, trying to keep an optimistic spin on the situation.

"I'll keep looking," he told her.

"Thank you, young man," she said in a quavering tone.

_/Good stars, Fett, you're getting too soft/ _he grumbled silently as he left the old woman's house and knocked on the next-door neighbor's door. _/What will other hunters think when they hear the galaxy's best is scouring some one-bantha town on a backwater world for an old lady's cat/_

None of the neighbors reported seeing Vincent – in fact, most complained that Mrs. Albany had been there already asking about the cat, and what business was it of his? Fett was quickly getting the impression that most of the citizens of this city detested sharing their turf with Star Wars fanatics. They were certainly glad enough to shoo him off their doorsteps…

Only the man at the last house was any help – he reported seeing a couple of teenagers in costume yesterday, stuffing a squalling Siamese cat into a burlap sack, throwing the bagged animal into a car, and screeching away.

"Can you describe them?" he asked.

"Tall, skinny, kinda dark brown hair, brown eyes," he offered. "Looked like brother and sister, or at least related somehow. Boy had a lot of pimples, looked about eighteen, wore Jedi robes. Girl had her hair in dreadlocks, maybe two or three years younger, wore white armor, had a clonetrooper helmet with her. Oh, and the boy had some kind of tattoo on his right hand. Weird symbol, probably something Star Wars-ish, but I wouldn't know, it's not my thing."

"What about the vehicle?"

"Honda Civic, real beat-up, tan paint job, don't remember the license number." He considered a little longer. "Bumper stickers, lots of them, can't repeat most of the slogans. One of them did get my attention – it said 'My dad's a Gulf War veteran' or something like that."

Fett nodded slowly. This was intriguing – the brothers had mentioned that a member of the Vader's Elite fan club had fought in the Gulf War. And to reinforce his suspicion, Jason had also described Sparky O'Brian as having four children, two of them teenagers still living at home. The brothers hadn't said that the two kids were troublesome, but to Fett it sure sounded like Sparky's son and daughter had decided to have a little fun at Mrs. Albany's expense.

Sparky and his family lived about five blocks away, in an old but well-maintained ranch home with a carefully landscaped lawn. A man in a TIE pilot uniform was squatting over an ornamental pond and splashing his face liberally. Fett couldn't help himself – he walked up behind the man and gave him the slightest nudge, sending him toppling into the pond.

"Hey, what was that for?" the man sputtered, flailing his way out of the pool, his costume smudged with algae and mud.

"Would you rather I advised the homeowners that they call the police?" Fett inquired, cocking his head at a suggestive angle.

The man swore under his breath, retrieved his helmet, and stalked away, his boots squelching with every step.

Fett took careful note of the vehicles in the driveway – a silver-blue van with a wheelchair ramp, and a battered tan Honda plastered with snide remarks like "Stop Overpopulation: Kill Yourself" and "I Love My Country: It's My Government I'm Afraid Of" – before knocking on the door.

A woman answered the door. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Robert Francis," he introduced. "I'm a friend of your husband's."

"Oh yes, Ryan told me about you," she said, smiling. "Come on in. He's in the living room right now, watching TV." She rolled her eyes. "He wouldn't miss 'People's Court' for the death of his mother."

True to her word, Sparky was seated before the television, though he was also keeping his hands busy with some kind of woven leatherwork as he watched the show. Two kids sat on the couch nearby, sniggering over a book – an acne-afflicted young man with a tattoo of the Mandalorian symbol on one hand, and a girl in dreadlocks.

"Honey, someone here to see you!"

Sparky craned his neck to look. "Oh, hi." He gestured to a nearby chair with a strip of dyed leather as he spoke. "Sit down, take a load off your feet. Ignore my children's giggling, if you will. They believe their generation is the only one that was ever cool."

"What does that mean?" Fett demanded as he came to stand by Sparky's wheelchair.

"It means they're enjoying their dad's high-school yearbooks, thinking he and his friends were a bunch of aliens and trolls, blissfully unaware of the fact that in twenty years their kids will be doing the exact same thing."

"Nice hair, Dad," the girl snorted. "It's frizzed clear out to your shoulders."

"Yeah, looks like you stuck your tongue in a light socket," the boy added.

Sparky rolled his eyes. "Robert, this is my son Dylan and my daughter Kyla. Dylan, Kyla, this is Robert."

"Hi Bob," Dylan greeted without looking up.

"Nice costume," Kyla gushed, giving him a flirtatious smile.

"Kyla has a little issue with falling instantly and madly in love with any males of the species she meets," Sparky informed him, tying one last knot in the braided leather key chain. "Here, a little gift for you." He handed it to Fett.

"Thanks," Fett replied, clipping the item to his shoulder next to the Wookie braids. "Nice work."

"I have to do something to keep my hands busy." He folded said hands before him. "But I know you didn't just come here to admire my handiwork. What's up?"

Fett pulled the photo of Vincent from his belt pouch and handed it to Sparky. "I'm looking for a cat, Sparky."

"Kind of an odd target for a bounty hunt, eh?" asked Sparky. "Haven't seen him."

"But someone else has," he replied. "What more, they saw your son and daughter apprehending said animal in a sack and carrying it away."

Sparky looked up at him, brow furrowed. "You're sure?"

Dylan and Kyla suddenly looked as if they'd rather be anywhere – even on a one-way shuttle into the heart of the Maw – but here.

"Kids," Sparky said warningly, twisting the wheels of his chair until he was facing the couch where the two teenagers sat. "We've had issues with you and animal cruelty before…"

"Dad, I didn't touch the cat!" protested Dylan. "Besides, I only put Mrs. Johnson's annoying beagle in the garbage can ONCE! That's hardly an 'issue!'" He emphasized the last word with finger quotations.

"And I haven't tried to dissect frogs in my bedroom in over a year," Kyla added forcefully. "And I know squat about this cat."

"Kids, I know I can't do a whole lot to force an answer out of you," Sparky went on. "I really can't chase you around anymore in my wheels, and besides, you're both getting too old for spankings. But I've always tried to be honest and open with you two, and all I'm asking is you do the same for me."

Fett marveled at Sparky's deft handling of the situation. No threats, no screaming, no excessive guilt trips, and yet he still managed to instill a healthy respect in his children and elicit an answer.

"All right, so we found the stupid cat," Dylan grumbled. "He was wandering around looking lost and confused, so we picked him up. But we didn't kill him, I swear!"

"Yeah, we took him to the shelter," Kyla added. "Geez, don't get so paranoid."

"I checked the Humane Society," Fett pointed out. "They've had no Siamese cats in some time."

"We didn't take him there!" Dylan shouted half-hysterically. "We took him to St. Francis' Ark across town!"

"St. Francis' Ark?" Fett repeated, trying to get all the strange words out clearly.

"It's a no-kill animal shelter," Kyla clarified. "The Humane Society can't keep all the animals it gets forever; it has to put some of them down sooner or later. St. Francis' Ark keeps its animals until they're adopted or until they die of natural causes."

Sparky nodded slowly. "I'll trust you two for now. But Fett's going to call us as soon as he's finished checking the Ark out, and if he doesn't find the cat, you two are in very big trouble."

Fett nodded obediently, grasping the gravity of the situation. If Vincent had met his doom at these teenagers' hands, he would have to deal with, not only Mrs. Albany's grief, but the possible repercussions this drama could have on Sparky's family.

_/If only for Sparky's sake/ _he thought, _/just let that damned cat be at St. Francis' Ark./_

_Break…_

If Vader thought things would calm down slightly after the bathroom incident, he was sorely mistaken. If anything, getting drenched in shampoo served only as a warning of things to come.

"Why does it always feel like I'm doing laundry in this house?" Diana muttered, maneuvering past the kitchen table to get to the den, an overflowing clothesbasket in her arms.

"Perhaps you should turn the laundry chore over to your husband," Vader suggested.

She gave him a cool look. "The last time Conrad did laundry, my best white slip turned pink and he fried three polyester shirts in the dryer. I don't think I'm turning the laundry over to him."

"I see," he replied. "Then perhaps I can be of assistance…"

"Don't worry about it," she assured him without a trace of sarcasm. "You're a guest here. I don't expect anything out of you…"

"Mommy!" Rachel shouted, bursting into the kitchen with a frantic expression on her face. "My Jar Jar doll is stuck!"

"Sweetheart, I'm a little busy," Diana told her.

"But Mommy!" she squealed. "He'll DROWN!"

"Can't you rescue him, honey?" she pleaded.

"I tried, but I can't get him out!"

"Out of what?" Diana inquired, obviously not wanting an answer.

"Well…" Rachel ducked her head sheepishly. "I didn't mean to hit the handle."

"Sweetie, please don't tell me you flushed your Jar Jar Binks doll down the toilet."

Rachel's absolutely pitiful pout – and the sound of running water hitting linoleum – answered that.

"Oh, for the love of…" Diana flung the laundry basket into a startled Vader's arms, and she ran into the bathroom. Rachel watched her go, then clapped both hands over her bottom and ran into the living room, shrieking in fear.

It was at that fortuitous moment that Conrad walked in the front door.

"They let us off early today, honey!" he announced. "We have some extra time to prepare for the dinner…" He paused and took in the scene before him – Vader standing there like an idiot clutching the clothesbasket, Rachel cowering under an end table in the living room and shielding her rear, and Diana emerging from the bathroom, soaked to the elbows and looking fit to kill.

"Um… is it like this every day I go to work?" he asked his wife. "Aside from the Sith doing the laundry, I mean."

"You – are – calling – a – plumber," Diana snarled.

"Well… I can fix it myself…" Conrad suggested.

"You're a construction worker, NOT a plumber," Diana informed him. "Last time you 'fixed' the toilet, you flooded the house."

"Okay, I'll call the plumber," he conceded, picking up the phone.

"No spankings! No spankings!" shouted Rachel.

Diana turned to Vader and took the laundry basket from him. "Sorry about that. Um, I hate to sound like I'm kicking you out, but maybe it would be best if you left the house for a few hours while the plumber 'rescues' Jar Jar."

That was all the convincing Vader needed. Less than ten minutes later, he was at the Leapfrog Diner, engaging in a lively diversion with the Elite's "Lady Vader." She had turned her bookstore over to her hired help and was on her lunch break, but she took a few minutes to challenge Vader to an air hockey game at the Leapfrog's arcade.

"So this is what the Almighty Sith Lord does on his days off," she said with a laugh.

"Who says I'm Almighty?" he shot back, firing the puck back in her direction.

"I believe I just did," she replied. She whacked the puck back across the table, sinking it in Vader's goal. "Eight to three, my favor."

Vader growled a little as he retrieved the disc.

"What, finally found something you can't do?" she said teasingly.

He shook his head and put the puck back into play. "If I may make a confession, I could quite possibly win this game if I halfway tried."

"Oh, so you're letting the lady win," she noted. "How chivalric of you. Well my lord, I'll quite understand if you kick my little hippie butt, so feel free to unleash your wrath."

He stared at her. "What in the galaxy is a hippie?"

"Never mind, it's a long story. Call it a game?"

He nodded. "I concede victory to you, Liberty. Thank you for the diversion."

"No problem." She switched off the game. "I had a lot of fun too. Not every day you get a chance to play air hockey with a Dark Lord of the Sith." She checked her watch. "Well, I'd better get back to the store. Those college kids are easily overwhelmed if you leave them alone for too long."

As they walked back to the Dragon Stone, he voiced a question that had been lying dormant in the back of his mind since the first time he'd seen Liberty at the Elite's party.

"Liberty," he asked, "why is your convention costume a feminine version of me?"

She looked up at him, slightly surprised by his question. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity. I'm allowed that luxury, you know."

She shrugged. "I really can't explain it. Part of it is that I'm not a conventional girl. I mean, most girls who are into Star Wars identify more with Padme or Leia than they do with the male characters. But I've never really liked their characters as well as those of the men. Let's face it, the guys get the more interesting adventures and back stories." She brushed back a strand of red hair. "Mostly, though, it's because… well… it's embarrassing to say…"

He discreetly touched her mind with the Force, catching the incriminating thought. "Because there was a time in your life when you found yourself physically attracted to my character."

She blushed. "No fair! You're a telepath!" She gave a self-conscious smile. "Promise you won't tell anyone, all right? It's kind of silly…"

"Not at all." To tell the truth, he was oddly flattered. Most people considered cyborgs in general repulsive, and Vader's reputation only served to add to that distaste. Not that he was actually on the lookout for another woman in his life, but it was still a rather pleasant surprise to know that not everyone saw him as an ugly monster.

"I was eleven when I saw 'A New Hope' for the first time," she explained. "My parents got into phases a lot, and one phase was that anything dealing with technology gave off negative energies that could damage one's spirit. We were living in a community in some forgotten neck of the woods, living off the land and eschewing modern convenience in order to protect our life forces. I absolutely hated it."

"So how did you manage to view an illicit motion picture?" he inquired.

"Easy. Did it all the time – I snuck out, wandered over to a town, and faked like I was lost until a family took me in. Then, while they tried to contact my parents, I would sit in front of the TV with their own kids and become acquainted with the horrors of modern technology."

"And one of those horrors happened to be Star Wars, I see."

"Oh yes," she sighed like a young woman fondly remembering a first sweetheart. "It was love at first sight. And seeing Darth Vader on the screen for the first time… you had this presence, this aura, this… how else can I say it?… this charisma. It was something I'd never seen before, something captivating. And the fact that you were partially machine, of course, added a flavor of 'forbidden fruit' to the mix." She laughed a little. "Even when my parents snapped out of the technophobe phase and moved back to civilization, I never told them my first crush was you. They probably would have thought I was nuts."

He chuckled slightly. "So your fantasy of being the Lady Vader carries on in your choice of attire."

"Exactly." She pulled open the door of the bookstore. "Thanks for letting me spill my guts, Vader. You're the only one I've ever told about this."

"Perhaps," he advised, "you should let Austin know. If you love him, then he deserves to know."

She sighed. "One of these days. Well, see you soon. Keep Conrad's family out of trouble." The door shut behind her.

He continued on his way, marveling that these people had accepted him, a Sith, a known villain, as enough of a friend to confide in him.


	3. Brigham and Fett's Deal

**Chapter 3 – Brigham and Fett's Deal**

Luke and Trapper edged into the crowded theater, careful not to spill any popcorn. Luke had hoped that the two of them could get seats next to each other, but it didn't look like that would happen anytime soon.

"Hey, there's a couple of my friends!" Trapper shouted, pointing to the front of the theater where two kids about his age sat. "Mind if I go sit by them?"

"Go ahead," Luke conceded. "Doesn't look like there's two open seats together anyhow."

"All right!" Trapper sped off.

Luke kept on the lookout for an open seat. He didn't particularly relish the idea of spending two hours standing in back…

Someone in a Darth Vader costume waved from the back row.

"Nick!" he exclaimed. He'd almost forgotten. He squeezed past a few stormtrooper look-alikes to take the seat his new friend had saved for him. Nick handed him a clipboard with a small light attached to it, enabling Luke to read in the semi-darkness of the theater.

_/I'm glad you showed up/ _he had written. _/My friend was supposed to meet me here, but I don't see her. And I hate going to movies by myself./_

_/I'm sorry about that. Who's your friend/_

_/Oh, just a girlfriend. She's actually acting as my interpreter, since she knows sign language. Who's the kid that was with you? Your son/_

_/Oh no, that's Trapper. I'm watching him while his dad's at work./_

_/I see./_

The movie's opening credits were rolling, but Luke suddenly found he was no longer interested in the show. He was too busy enjoying Nick's company to pay attention to the screen – even if their conversation was limited to words on paper.

_/At least we can talk without annoying the people around us/ _Luke pointed out.

Nick nodded vigorously as if laughing silently. _/Very true./ _He tapped the "mouthpiece" of his mask with the end of his pencil, thinking. _/I hate this movie, actually. Pointless, really. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't that I had to meet a friend here… a friend who never actually showed. Then again, I may be biased. I mostly watch foreign-language films in the theaters – you know, "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" and "The Passion of the Christ."/_

_/Why's that/_

_/Because they already come with subtitles. Then I'm not straining to read the actor's lips or sitting there clueless while they're discussing something important and it's going right over my head because I can't hear what they're saying. So few theaters play subtitles unless it's a foreign film. It burns me that I'm going to have to wait until "Revenge of the Sith" hits DVD so I can see it with subtitles./_

_/I'm sorry./_

_/Don't be. It's not your fault. I've written to the theaters in Newport trying to get them to do something about it, but they've just ignored me. Maybe one of the theaters here in Star City'll listen to me./_

_/Isn't there a surgical way to repair your hearing/_

_/My parents took me to every doctor in Oregon when I was a kid. The defect's irreparable. Besides, I'm used to living with it. Restoring my hearing at this point in my life will just mean that I have to adjust all over again./_

_/I didn't think about that./ _He paused a moment, then wrote some more. _/Do your other senses make up for your hearing/_

_/Oh yes. I'm very sensitive to touch – I can feel the vibrations in the floor as people walk past us, for example. When I was in school, I always knew when class was out because the school bell was so strong that it created vibrations in the air./ _He gave his nodding laugh again. _/I like music, too – John Williams, Beethoven, some of the better heavy metal bands./_

Luke had to think about that a moment. _/Is it because you can feel the music/_

_/You got it. John Williams is a great composer. You don't have to be able to hear the music to appreciate it – you feel it in your bones, in your blood, all the way down to your shoes. It's a powerful feeling./_

_/You're a surprising person, Nick. Most handicapped people I've met are bitter about their weaknesses and shortcomings./ _He knew Sparky didn't fit that mold, but he didn't bring that up. _/But you haven't let it interfere with your life./_

_/What's the point in being bitter? Being deaf doesn't affect my personality or my mental capacity. So what if I can't see every movie the day it comes out because I need subtitles? So what if I have to hold a conversation in writing or with an interpreter on hand to translate my sign language? My ears don't work, but there's nothing wrong with my brain./_

Luke was very impressed with Nick. Somehow, he'd found a way to live his life to the fullest despite his handicap. And though he might not have done anything especially impressive with his life, his actions in dealing with deafness were just as heroic as anything Luke Skywalker had done – just not quite as visually dramatic.

_/Okay, off my soapbox/ _Nick wrote. _/Let's talk about something else./_

_/So what do you do for a living/_

_/In Newport, I was a lifeguard at one of the beach resorts. Of course, there's not much call for that here in Colorado. I'm hoping to get a job for the newspaper here. Writing's my passion, especially journalism. I have a website where I create Star Wars "news articles" just for laughs, but I hope to break into the actual field someday./_

_/I have a friend who works at the local paper/ _Luke offered. _/His name's Austin Powers, and he's a columnist. If I put you in touch with him, maybe he can help you get a job with the paper./_

_/That'd be great! Thank you so much/_

As they left the theater, Luke wrote Austin's e-mail address on the edge of the paper and handed the clipboard back to Nick. Their conversation had nearly exhausted Nick's paper supply, but in Luke's mind it had been worth it. Nick had a possible job, and Luke had made a new friend.

"So what did you think about the movie?" Trapper asked, appearing at Luke's side.

"I… didn't see it."

"Didn't see it!" Trapper exclaimed in a insulted tone.

"I was busy talking," Luke replied. "Nick, this is Trapper. Trapper, Nick."

"Oh, this is the deaf guy!" Trapper realized. He reached up and shook Nick's hand. "You read lips?"

Nick nodded.

"Pleased to meet you," Trapper said slowly. "Nice costume."

Nick nodded again and lifted his clipboard as if to write something.

"Nicholas Staples, where have you been!"

Luke rolled his eyes as a woman in a snug-fitting costume of a character he didn't recognize stormed forward, her dyed-red hair swinging down to her hips. Why was she shouting anyway? Nick couldn't hear her, no matter how loud she was.

_/Nick, Trapper, this is my friend Jenna/ _Nick wrote._ /She's getting me acquainted with Star City./_

Luke wanted to say that Nick should find a more polite woman to call friend, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Idiot," she hissed, keeping her teeth clenched so Nick couldn't catch what she said. "Can't turn my back on him for a minute…" She spotted Luke. "Who's this?" she demanded, making a few gestures with her hands.

Nick replied by moving his hands, using some sort of hand language to communicate with Jenna.

"Good for you," she told him, keeping her face pleasant but her voice sarcastic. "You don't make friends that easy." Turning toward Luke, she said "Thank you for finding him. He's such a handful sometimes. I told him to meet me at the Skyview Cinema, but somehow he ended up here. Sometimes I wonder how much of him's there, if you get my drift."

"I've found, ma'am, that what you expect from someone is often what you get," Luke replied coldly.

"Besides, there's three theaters in this town," Trapper added. "It's easy to get them mixed up."

"Whatever." She turned back to Nick. "Let's go. We can't miss tonight's meeting."

Nick gave her a gesture that Luke took to mean "give me a minute." He wrote down one last note and handed it to Luke before tucking his clipboard under his arm and following Jenna to her car.

"Geez, what a witch," Trapper complained. "And he calls her a friend?"

"Not a lot we can do about it," Luke replied. "Unfortunately, there's not a lot he can do about it either. He can't write everything down; he needs someone to interpret for him." He opened the message and read.

_/Here's my e-mail. Shoot me a line. And thanks./_

Smiling, Luke pocketed the note.

"C'mon, let's go home and play Stratego," Trapper suggested.

"Over my dead body," Luke replied. "Maybe Podracer." He thought a minute. "What was she dressed as anyhow?"

"Mara Jade. Lady from the books. I hate her."

"Kind of a _femme fatale_ looking character, isn't she? I hope I never meet her."

_Break…_

St. Francis' Ark was located far off the beaten path… and was about as different from the Humane Society as one could get. The first shelter had been a cold concrete-and-steel building that reeked of antiseptic and constantly echoed with the barks and yowls of restless, irritated animals. But something about the Ark oozed rustic coziness, and even the battle-hardened Fett felt himself relax a touch once he stepped onto the grounds.

The Ark had once been a horse ranch, but the present owner had converted the stables into heated dog runs and the house into a vet's office, small animal housing, and "acquaintance rooms" where prospective new owners could hold and play with an animal before making a choice. Volunteers were playing ball or Frisbee with dogs, leading dogs and cats on leashes around the grounds, or giving dogs baths in modified stock tanks. All the animals Fett could see looked healthy and well-cared for. If Vincent were here, the cat was probably being spoiled rotten at this moment.

As he reached for the doorbell, two cold noses suddenly thrust into the back of his thighs, snuffling loudly and prodding uncomfortably into the seat of his pants.

"Rudy! Chewbacca! Leave the poor man alone!"

A woman was hauling on the leashes of two shaggy mongrels, trying to pull the animals off of Fett. There was no viciousness in their actions, only overeager curiosity. Still, he was greatly relieved when she finally managed to get the beasts under control.

"They're kennel-mates," she explained. "And they're so friendly. If you're looking to adopt a dog, I highly recommend these two, especially for a family…"

"I'm not looking to adopt a dog, ma'am," he replied. "I'm here for a cat."

"Oh, Mrs. Viraldi is in charge of the cats. She's inside right now, just go right in and ask the receptionist for her. Rudy, no! You don't dig in the flowers!"

He entered the building to find himself in a room that had once been a dining room but had been converted into a reception area. Two birdcages – one containing a bright blue macaw, the other a handful of canaries – hung by either side of the door, and an aquarium containing a white snake sat on the receptionist's desk. The man behind the desk gave him a puzzled look but rang for Mrs. Viraldi anyhow.

"How may I help you, young man?" asked the woman who emerged from a back room, a strange animal perched on her shoulder and picking at its leash.

"You're Mrs. Viraldi, the woman who manages the cats here?"

"Yes, I oversee the care and adoption of the cats."

"That's a rather strange-looking cat," he noted, pointing to her shoulder.

"Oh, you're so funny," she chuckled, reaching up to stroke the creature. "We don't often get monkeys here, but someone bought this one and decided he was too much of a handful, so dropped him off at the Humane Society. They don't have the facilities to handle exotics like birds, reptiles, or monkeys, so they shipped him here." She winced as the monkey reached up and began inquisitively yanking at the barrettes in her hair. "Of course, we don't yet have the facilities to house a monkey, so until we get a proper enclosure set up for him, he's staying with the cats."

"Which puts him under your care."

"Not that I mind." She laughed as the monkey cheeped softly and leaped to her other shoulder. "He's quite a character. But you came here for a cat, not a monkey…"

He handed her the picture of Vincent. "I'm searching for this cat. Two kids claim they found it and brought it here."

She nodded. "Yes, just yesterday afternoon. They dropped him off here in a sack, poor thing, but he felt much better after we brushed him down and gave him something to eat. He looked very well-cared for, so I knew he couldn't be a stray…"

Fett felt a measure of relief at this. "Then I'll pick him up and be on my way."

"I'm sorry, but he's not here anymore," she said regretfully.

He glowered down at her. "He's not?"

"We have this little one to thank," she replied, pointing at the monkey that, by now, had figured out how to undo her barrette and was amusing itself by rearranging her hairstyle. "He's learned how to unlock the latches on the cat cages, and last night he instigated a massive jailbreak in the cat enclosures. It took us all night and most of this morning to get everyone back in their cages, and I'm sorry to say that we never did find that Siamese." She reached up and forcibly removed the barrette from the monkey's tiny hands. "Needless to say, we're going to padlock this one's door until he's adopted or we find someplace better for him."

Fett growled in his throat. Nothing could ever be easy, could it?

"Any idea where that cat could be?" he demanded.

"You're free to search the premises," she offered. "Let us know if you find him, all right?"

The monkey chattered, then somehow slipped its collar, jumped to Fett's shoulder, and began climbing down his arm, fingering the gaps in his armor and probing anything that looked remotely interesting.

"Now you, be nice to him!" she chided, reaching over to grab the animal.

Fett tensed. That creature had better not start fooling around with his gadgetry. If he triggered something like the flamethrower or the arm blades, there would be no telling Mrs. Viraldi's reaction.

Luckily (or unluckily, as the case might be), the first thing the monkey activated was the dart gun. It gave a sharp squeal of indignant pain and dropped to the floor like a shot bird.

"Oh gracious!" she exclaimed.

Fett scooped up the unconscious monkey, discreetly removed the dart, and handed the animal over. "I think he hit his head when he fell," he offered.

"We'll get him to the vet's office right away," she assured him. "Good luck finding your cat."

"May the Force be with you," he replied reflexively.

She laughed. "You too."

The receptionist was still giving him a rather studious look. Fett ignored him and reached for the door.

"Psst! Hey, dude, you lose a Siamese?"

Fett turned to regard him. "What do you know about it?"

He looked behind him to make sure Mrs. Viraldi had really left, then turned back to Fett. "While we were rounding up the cats this morning, I saw some guys grab him out of a tree and take off with him."

Fett leaned over the desk slightly. "Describe them."

"One of 'em in a Darth Vader outfit, but his voice wasn't low enough to be a good Vader voice, and he cussed like a sailor. The other wore Jedi robes – except they were black, ya know, with red trim. And he had this weird hair – the Jedi one, not the Vader one – that stood straight up and was black with white stripes in it. Looked like a skunk on crystal meth."

_/Nice analogy/ _Fett thought. "And you made no move to stop them."

"I'm not going to stick my neck out for a hairball!" the young man squealed. He dropped his voice to a bare hiss of a whisper. "Don't you know who those guys could be?"

Fett shook his head. "I'm not native to the area."

He gave an exaggerated shudder. "They could be… Sons of the Sith…"

"Sons of the Sith?" He'd heard the group mention something about the cult, and how they were mostly a bunch of drug addicts who thought they were Sith Trainees. But he hadn't considered them to be anything other than fan-circulated rumors.

"Yeah, man. That group is scary." His voice dropped even lower, if that were possible. "_I think they're into animal sacrifice_."

Fett fought the urge to roll his eyes. This could be speculation – or it could be truth. He couldn't be sure.

"You want your cat back," the young man told him in summary, "you find the Sons of the Sith, 'cause they've got him. And what they get, they generally keep."

The hunter digested the information Mrs. Viraldi and the receptionist had given him as he left St. Francis' Ark. If a group that sounded as dangerous as the Sons of the Sith had just gotten involved, the risk factor had been upped considerably. Perhaps he should go back to Mrs. Albany's house and demand a pay increase…

But he had no information on his new foe. He didn't know whether they were actually a dark-side wielding faction or simply a bunch of fans that got their kicks by scaring the town into conspiracy theories. If he was going to be facing them, he needed more data. He needed the expertise of someone who knew about strange religions…

And he knew just where to find such an expert – King Valley Community College, ten miles south of Star City, just a short bus ride away.

"Don't come in if you value your sanity," Brigham informed him, opening the door. "Cody's got his accordion out again."

"Hello, Fettster!" Cody greeted from his bed, looking up from tinkering around with the boxy, peculiar-looking instrument that was threatening Brigham's peace of mind. "Come here to enjoy a tune or two?" He began to crank out a sickly-sounding version of "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing."

Fett entered the dorm before Brigham could further protest. "I have a deal to make with you, Mr. Pratt."

Fett took a moment to look around the dorm room – more cluttered than the Osmonds' house, if such were possible, and every wall crammed with a mix of Star Wars posters and religious images, mostly of a bearded robed man who looked like a Jedi but whom Fett assumed was the Son of God that Cody and Brigham's religions shared. From what he'd heard, these two men came from similar backgrounds – affluent, deeply religious families who had wanted their sons to attend prestigious church universities (Brigham's folks had tried to ship him to BYU, Cody's to Notre Dame). Both were instead studying software design at this small Colorado school, both shared a love of both Star Wars and their God, and both had dealt with their own medical problems over the years – Brigham had only recently recovered from surgery on a chest tumor, while Cody was currently dealing with diabetes.

"What kind of deal?" asked Brigham suspiciously.

"I need to know about the Sons of the Sith."

Cody stopped playing in mid-note and stared at him as if he'd just spoken Bocche.

"I don't know a whole lot about them…" Brigham said a little too quickly.

"In return for your information," he went on, "I'll read that book of yours – the Book of Mormon – cover to cover."

"…but I've heard some," he finished. He dug around in a stack of textbooks. "Poor guy in our ward… um, congregation got mixed up with them a year or so back, and the details tend to circulate quickly." He drew out a copy of the Book of Mormon and handed it to Fett. "My number's inside if you have questions."

Fett smiled beneath his mask. Number one rule about dealing with an informant – if you had to bribe an answer out of them, make the bait something they would find irresistible. "I'll read it later. For now, start talking."

Brigham sat down. "The Sons of the Sith are the closest thing Star City has to a Mafia – organized crime. They're responsible for almost all the drug trafficking in this town, and at least half of all other crimes can be linked to them as well. They believe the Empire will someday come to Earth and reward them for their devotion to the Sith. The other fans try to ignore them, which isn't hard since they tend to keep separate from the conventions and tourists. And no one knows where they meet for sure, though the cops think they move headquarters around a lot to keep from getting busted." He shrugged. "That's all I know – all the solid facts, anyhow."

"Anything that may be less than solid?" he asked.

"Rumors abound," Brigham replied. "The guy in my church that fell in with them said that each new initiate constructs an actual lightsaber, minus components so that if and when the Empire ever shows up for real, they can build a working weapon. Some people say they go the whole nine yards into the cult thing – ritual tattoos, blood sacrifice, sexual ceremonies, all that garbage." He shuddered. "I heard they had a book of their own, some kind of Sith scripture, but that's probably hearsay. I've never wanted to check into that."

"Any idea where these Sons of the Sith meet?"

"Not a clue."

Cody, who had succeeded in butchering "Duel of the Fates" behind Brigham, piped up. "Not true, Brig! You told me you saw a pack of 'em meeting down by the…"

"Shut up, Cody!" Brigham snapped.

Fett leaned forward. "Take me there, Brigham. Now."

"What's this about?" Brigham asked warily, raising an eyebrow.

"Take me there, no questions asked," Fett shot back, "and I'll not only read your Book of Mormon, but I'll meet with the missionaries of your church and listen to their spiel."

"Get in the car," Brigham replied, standing and grabbing his keys.

"You sure know how to push his buttons, Fettster," Cody remarked with a grin, happily mutilating the tune of "When the Saints Go Marching In."

_Break…_

_FOR SALE BY OWNER_

'_66 CORVETTE – AS IS_

_$1500 OR BEST OFFER_

Vader was no judge of Earth vehicles, but he was quite intrigued by this one. True, it was in sorry shape. The windshield was cracked, the upholstery looked as if someone had taken a vibroblade to it, and the paint job was so old that when he experimentally touched the hood a chip of faded scarlet the size of a quarter came off in his fingers. But the body looked generally sound, and if he were able to purchase this car and make some modifications…

He snapped out of the daydream and continued to walk back to the Church's house, leaving the battered but promising car in its owner's driveway. He had to think realistically. It wasn't as if he would be on Earth much longer. And of what use would a wheeled vehicle be on Corusant? Even for someone as wealthy as he was, buying the car would be a waste of money.

Rachel opened the door for him. "Wanna play Candyland?" she asked.

"Where are your parents?" Vader asked, sidestepping the inquiry.

"Daddy's getting dressed, and Mommy's doing her hair," Rachel replied. "They gotta leave for a fancy dinner. Emily's gonna come over and babysit."

He nodded. "I will be upstairs if I'm needed."

The phone rang.

"I'll get it!" shouted Conrad, jogging into the kitchen and trying to juggle the phone and adjust his tie at the same time. "This is Conrad. Hi! What? Damn, are you okay?"

Diana stepped out of the bathroom, her hands behind her neck to fasten a string of pearls. "Oh, you're back, Vader. Emily is…"

"Rachel has informed me of the circumstances," Vader replied. He gave Diana a studious look. "You look very nice, Mrs. Church."

She blushed. "Thanks. Conrad bought this dress for me last Christmas…"

Conrad hung up. "That was Emily. She was involved in a car accident this afternoon."

"Is she okay?" asked Diana.

"Yeah, but the hospital wants to keep her overnight for evaluation," Conrad replied. "She can't make it."

Diana's face fell in a look of disappointment. Obviously they had been planning this night on their own for some time, and being parents, who knew when they'd have a similar opportunity again? For a moment Vader considered… no, he wouldn't… but they'd put up with a lot by having him in their house…

"Go on," he told them at last. "Enjoy your dinner. I will watch Rachel."

Diana flung her arms around him. "Thank you so much!"

"We owe you for this," Conrad added. "You two can have whatever you want for dinner. We generally try to have Rachel in bed by eight-thirty, but if she wants to stay up and watch a movie, that's fine. Just nothing rated over PG."

Vader nodded. "It will be done."

"Thanks again!" Conrad shouted over his shoulder as they departed.

Vader stared down at Rachel, who looked up at him with a deceivingly innocuous expression, clutching her Wookie doll tightly.

"What am I going to do with you?" Vader demanded.

"Let's have chicken nuggets for dinner!" she cried. "We've got lots in the freezer. And can I watch a movie?"

"Very well. Which movie."

She gave a huge grin. "Star Wars!"

He ground his teeth. "Besides that."

"Okay, then let's watch 'Finding Nemo!' Please?"

He nodded. If it would keep Rachel entertained for the evening, he would suffer through a fifteenth showing of that annoying talking fish movie.


	4. Visions of Fire

**Chapter 4 – Visions of Fire**

"Hey Luke, get a load of this!"

Luke popped the lasagna in the microwave and went back into the living room. "What's up?"

Trapper pointed at the television screen. "I just turned on the TV to play 'Bounty Hunter,' and this was on the six o' clock news!"

The image of a newscaster on the screen was swiftly replaced by an outdoor shot of some sort of store, bullet holes piercing the glass in a few places and police cars everywhere. A voice-over provided the details.

"Police are searching for four suspects involved in a jewelry heist in Denver early this afternoon. Witnesses told the police that four men, each wearing the costume of a Star Wars character, entered the store and fired several rounds, then demanded the jewelry cases be unlocked. The thieves left the store in an unmarked maroon Chevy Astro with over a million dollars worth of unmounted gemstones. No one was injured during the robbery…"

Luke shook his head. "If they're in Star Wars costumes, it means they were from around here."

"It's the stupid Sons of the Sith, I'll bet," Trapper grumbled. "They give Star Wars fans a bad name. Some people want the conventions shut down, thanks to them."

Images of Star Wars characters were flashed across the screen as references for what types of costumes each thief had worn. The gunmen had worn trooper costumes, one stormtrooper and the other scouttrooper, while the man who had actually cleaned out the cases had been dressed as an Imperial Royal Guard. The getaway driver, apparently, had been a Darth Maul look-alike.

"All either masked or make-upped characters," Luke noted. "It'll be hard to identify them. I wonder why they want gems."

"Drug money, maybe," Trapper replied. "At least half of them are addicts, I hear…"

"If it was drug money they were after, they wouldn't go for gems," Luke countered. "They'd have to find a fence for the gemstones, get their steal appraised, and all that takes time. Someone desperate for drug money would most likely rob a convenience store or snatch a purse for quick cash, not waste time on other merchandise. Whoever did this either wants big money for a big project, or they're after the stones themselves rather than their cash value."

Trapper hummed a little as he digested that thought. "Maybe they're after guns. They sell the gems, use the money to get weapons…"

"That begs the question – why do they want weapons?"

"Let's change the subject," Trapper said nervously, turning off the TV.

The microwave chimed.

"I have a better idea," Luke said, going back to the kitchen. "Let's have dinner. Afterwards we can watch a movie or play some games…"

"We can watch 'The Sixth Sense,'" Trapper suggested. "Just don't tell Dad you let me watch it."

Luke arched an eyebrow. "Nice try."

"Aw, c'mon, it's not even really gory!"

"You can work that out with your dad. For now, his rules stand." Luke pulled another movie out of the DVD case. "Now THIS one looks interesting. That looks like Han."

"That's 'Raiders of the Lost Ark,'" Trapper replied. "And yeah, that's the same guy who plays Han Solo in the Star Wars movies. Those are cool movies too. Want to see one tonight?"

"Sure, I'm game. Set the table and we'll watch this after we eat."

Trapper gave a whoop and went into the kitchen to get plates.

Luke glanced out the window, feeling a sudden little chill. Somehow he got the feeling that the jewel robbery in Denver was only the edge of an approaching disaster. And somehow he felt as if there was something he needed to do to ward off the crisis, but he didn't know what.

_Break…_

Brigham pulled over in front of a Sinclair station about a dozen blocks from the convention center. "Right here. Don't ask me what they were doing here, but over the past few weeks I've been seeing an awful lot of them around here."

"Thank you, Brigham," Fett replied, exiting the Chevy Impala and heading toward the gas station.

"Be careful!" Brigham shouted at his back before driving off.

Inside the convenience store, a party of five black-clad men and women had clustered in a corner, whispering in hushed tones as they loaded up on beer. Fett edged closer under the pretense of selecting a case of soda, trying to catch their conversation.

"Master Ramirez wanted at least three new recruits at the meeting tonight," a young woman in red-and-black painted stormtrooper armor said with a touch of unease in her voice. "I didn't have any luck…"

"Bull#$," a man in a Darth Vader costume grumbled. "You didn't try."

"I did!" she hissed. "But I was trying to be discreet, ya know? The cops in this town must be Rebel sympathizers; if someone breathes a word about the Sons, they slap handcuffs on them. And I can't do much recruiting in a jail cell, ya know?"

"I hear Jenna's got a likely prospect," a man in black-and-red Jedi robes offered. Fett made a careful note of the man's hair – black with white stripes, obviously dyed, and looking a lot like a dead skunk Fett had seen on the highway that afternoon.

"Really?" asked the Vader wannabe, intrigued. "Who?"

"No one I know," he replied. "Polowski, your cousin still interested?"

"Cousin got himself arrested," the Vader impersonator replied. "Doing two to five for possession of H."

"I have a friend who's planning on coming tonight," a woman in black leather with Sith tattoos on her face replied. "That's two down."

"The meeting starts in an hour," complained the last groupie, a being swathed from head to foot in black rags like a dark-side Tusken Raider. "Where are we going to get another recruit in that time…"

Fett cleared his throat. The five of them turned and glowered at him.

"I couldn't help but overhear…" he began.

"Get the &# out of our conversation!" Polowski snapped.

"Shut up," hissed the woman in leather.

"You're Sons of the Sith," Fett went on.

Skunk-Hair lifted an eyebrow. "What's it to you, friend?"

"Robert," Fett replied. "And if you're looking for a recruit, I'm very interested."

The Sith-Tusken bent over to whisper in Skunk-Hair's ear. Skunk-Hair nodded once and eyed Fett curiously.

"All new recruits are required to go through a test. Are you willing to submit to a trial to gain admittance into the Sons of the Sith?"

Fett nodded.

"You're not squeamish, are you?" asked the trooper. "The trial can be pretty gruesome for the uninitiated."

"Hardly," Fett replied.

"Then meet us at the old lodge at White Deer Lake tonight," Skunk-Hair replied. "It's about a mile down the river from the new lodge. Make sure you're not followed. We won't tolerate intruders."

"Understood."

Skunk-Hair shook his hand. "See you there."

Fett paid for his soda and left, mulling over this new information. A gruesome trial… why did he get the feeling that this would end up as Vincent's fate? All the more reason to infiltrate their meeting, however. Hopefully he could find a way to snatch the cat and fight his way out. After all, who would believe a bunch of stoned fans who claimed Boba Fett crashed a private meeting – and seeing as the meeting was something illicit, why would any of them risk blowing their cover just to blab about supposedly being attacked by a bounty hunter?

Seeing an end to his hunt at last, he set off on the walk to the lodge.

_Break…_

Silence.

Blessed, peaceful silence.

After a lot of whining on Rachel's part, a prolonged and exasperating pursuit through the house, and a masterful job at suppressing his urge to resort to violence, Vader had finally managed to put the kicking and squirming little girl to bed. Now, staring at the mess the two of them had managed to make in the house, he reveled in a moment of private silence. Never mind that Rachel's dolls and figures were still scattered hither and yon throughout the living room and kitchen, that pieces of chicken nuggets and Oreos were still ground into the carpet, that books from the bookcase lay open all over like shot birds, or that the DVD cabinet was still lying on the floor, a casualty of Rachel's headlong flight from the dreaded torment of bedtime. He figured he earned a few minutes to simply savor a rare moment of tranquility.

_/Maybe it's a good thing you never raised Luke yourself/ _he thought as he finally roused himself to activity and lifted the DVD cabinet to its proper place. _/You don't have the patience to deal with children for one night, let alone eighteen years./_

It took a few minutes to clean up after the wild chase. When he'd finished the task, he idly flicked on the television and skimmed through the channels. There had to be something on fit for him to watch. He'd seen that blasted fish movie so many times now he practically had it memorized. He needed something, anything, to counteract it.

An image of some sort of title showed up on one channel, words that started out as vague outlines against the black screen then slowly illuminated as a voiceover explained:

"_In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate but equally important groups – the police who investigate crimes, and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are there stories."_

_/Now this is more like it/ _he thought, and he set the remote down. "Law & Order" seemed about as far from "Finding Nemo" as one could get, a difference he appreciated greatly.

The plot of the show – which, this episode, concerned a counterfeit flu vaccine being distributed throughout New York City and leading to over a dozen deaths – didn't interest him as much as the insight into Earth's legal system did. If this show truly represented the legal process, then it would seem that the system was flawed. It amazed Vader that someone obviously guilty of murder could be freed to walk the streets again on a mere technicality. Such things would never have happened in the Empire. If the counterfeiter in this show had been arrested on an Imperial world, he would count himself lucky to be granted the luxury of a trial.

But then again, it seemed there were just as many loopholes available to the prosecution as there were to the defense. When the defense attorney in this trial sought to suppress the evidence against his client by claiming the detectives had, according to the search warrant, searched the wrong storage locker, the prosecution countered by saying that, since the searched locker was being leased by the defendant's sister, only she – not the defendant – could accuse the police of unlawful entry. The legal system seemed to be an elaborate game of chess, played more by the lawyers than by the plaintiffs and defendants themselves.

The general theme of the show seemed to be that the system, even if it wasn't foolproof, worked, and that at least it ensured that every man sent to prison had been proven guilty.

Just as the trial began winding to a close, a scream pierced the night.

Vader was on his feet and halfway up the stairs before the first scream could cease and another begin. That had come from Rachel's room! For a moment he cursed himself, wondering if an intruder had slipped into the house while he'd been occupied.

Rachel was sitting straight up in bed when Vader flung open the door, her eyes so wide the whites showed all around the green-brown irises. Her blankets were snarled around her as if she'd been thrashing around. Vader quickly scanned the room, but there was no sign of an intrusion of any sort.

"What is…" he began.

"I want Mommy!" she bawled, clawing her way out of bed and flinging her arms around his knees.

"She's not back yet…" Vader tried to explain.

"Mommy!" she wailed.

There was no use trying to reason with the girl. Something had frightened her badly. She must have had a nightmare, though what could have induced it he had no clue. Maybe the Oreos weren't agreeing with her stomach…

But this could be no ordinary bad dream. Rachel was past frightened – she was hysterical.

Prying her arms from around his legs, he knelt before her and tilted her head toward his, forcing her to look into his eyes. Cradling her face in his hands, he sent a pulse of the Force into her, urging her to open his mind to her, to let him see what had so shaken her.

He flinched and cried out, recoiling from the brutality of what couldn't be a nightmare. Pain… suffering… fear… anger… fire… consuming flames that dominated his sight and raged with mad fury all around…

_/It's not a nightmare/ _he amended. _/It's a vision/_

Rachel continued to sob wildly, burying her face in his shoulder. Shaking himself free from his trance, he held her, trying awkwardly to get her to calm down, assuring her that everything was all right and that no harm would come to them, but nothing could placate her. It wasn't that she _wouldn't_ stop crying – she _couldn't _stop crying.

_/Of course she can't stop crying, you idiot/ _he told himself. _/She's five years old! If that vision was enough to unnerve a Sith Lord, then no wonder she's so terrified./_

Rachel's body quaked with fear and sobs. Reluctantly, Vader did the only thing he could think of to calm her – he reached into her mind and situated himself between her presence and the disturbing premonition. Taking infinite care so as not to disturb any other memories, he excised the vision from her brain, drawing it into his own mind. Her nightmare was now his memory.

"Everything will be all right," he told her.

She sniffed loudly, burrowed into his chest, and relaxed. The most she would ever remember of this night was that she had awakened from some nighttime disturbance and fallen asleep again in Vader's arms. There would be no recollection of a flaming vision.

When he was sure she was sound asleep, he laid her back in her bed and rearranged the covers over her body. On impulse he retrieved her Wookie doll from the floor and placed it in her arms. This little girl was going to need all the comfort she could get this night.

Then he went downstairs to make a phone call.

_Break…_

Luke had just seen Trapper off to bed and was about to check out "The Sixth Sense" for himself when the phone rang. With a shrug he picked up the receiver. Austin hadn't forbidden him from answering the phone…

"Hello?"

"Hey Luke, it's me," Austin said from the other end. "The meeting with the syndicate just ended. I'll be home in two hours or so. You two have a good day?"

"Just fine," Luke replied. "How was the meeting?"

"It was productive, if a little boring," said Austin. "Trapper go to bed already?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

"Good."

A beep issued from the receiver.

"What was that?"

"Sounds like another call coming in," Austin replied. "Press the 'Flash' button on the phone to answer it. I'll go ahead and hang up; we can talk tomorrow."

"See you when you get home," Luke replied, and he tapped the 'Flash' button. "Hello?"

"Something urgent has occurred, Luke," came Vader's voice.

Luke frowned slightly. Though he felt that his father had made considerable progress over the last week and was by no means the Dark Lord that he had faced on Bespin, he didn't see why he would be informing Luke of an urgent occurrence. He'd thought it more likely that Vader would contact Fett about something monumental.

"Did you get word of an Imperial transport?" asked Luke.

"No. It regards Rachel."

It was a good thing Vader couldn't see Luke now, because he'd probably be rather incensed by his son's triumphant smile. The Dark Lord had definitely developed a soft spot for that little girl.

"This evening," Vader went on, "Rachel had a vision, no doubt induced by the Force."

"Are you sure?" Luke asked. "It could just be a nightmare."

"Trust me, Luke," Vader replied. "I know nightmares, and I know visions." The ensuing pause made Luke wonder just what kind of visions Vader had experienced in his life.

"What was this vision about?" he pressed.

"Fire," Vader replied. "A great fire, one that filled her field of vision. Fighting, fists landing, weapons going off, people being injured. And…" Another pause.

"And?" Luke inquired. "Go on, spit it out."

"And somehow, we were in the middle of it all," Vader finished.

"'We' as in 'you and I?'"

"You and I, and Boba Fett. As well as a great sense of danger directed at the three of us."

Luke shook his head. "Poor little girl. She must be scared out of her wits."

"She's asleep," Vader informed him. "I took the liberty of erasing her memory of the vision."

"Altering her memory's a little extreme…"

"I'm NOT risking her sanity for the sake of a vision," Vader said harshly. "Rachel is Force-strong; she's going to be dealing with a lot in her life, whether or not she is eventually trained. She doesn't need this on top of it."

Luke sighed, conceding the point. "What are we going to do?"

"Forewarned is forearmed," Vader replied. "We will inform Boba Fett of the circumstances, and we will all exercise caution from this point forward."

The phone beeped again.

"One second, I've got another call," Luke told him.

"Does Austin's phone have three-way calling?" Vader asked. "If it's Fett, we should both speak to him."

Luke located the appropriate button and pressed it. "Hello?"

"Luke?" It was Jason.

"Yeah, I'm here. Vader's on the line too."

"Good, just the men I wanted to talk to," Jason said with considerable relief. "Have either of you seen Boba Fett today?"

"No," Luke replied.

"We were about to call your house and speak to him," Vader explained.

"He's been gone all day," Jason replied, beginning to sound anxious. "He walked out about ten-thirty, and we haven't seen him since."

"Oh great," moaned Luke. "Just what we need."

"Have you spoken with anyone else in the fan club?" asked Vader.

"Sparky says he stopped by his house, asking about a cat," Jason answered, his tone of voice suggesting that he thought it bizarre that Fett would be asking about an animal. "Brigham and Cody say he visited their dorm about six or seven o'clock, and that he milked Brig for info on the Sons of the Sith. Brig dropped him off at the Sinclair station on Eighth and Granite, and that's the last anyone's seen of him."

"Sithspawn," hissed Luke. "We've got to go find him!"

"I'll expect you at the corner of Eight and Granite in no less than ten minutes," Vader told Luke. "We'll find Fett together."

"I don't have access to a car," Luke informed him.

"Fine, then I'll pick you up," Vader rejoined. "Expect me in five minutes or less."

"What am I supposed to do?" demanded Jason. "Call the cops?"

"That's the last thing we need," Luke told him. "No one can know we're on the planet. It'll cause a panic."

Jason muttered something unintelligible and hung up.

"Do you think Fett disappearing has anything to do with the vision?" asked Luke.

"I don't know," Vader confessed. "But I have a bad feeling about this."

"Me too," Luke replied.


	5. New Sith Order

**Chapter 5 – New Sith Order**

"Aw, c'mon, why can't I go?" demanded Trapper from his perch on the kitchen counter as Luke strapped on his blaster holster and clipped his lightsaber to his belt.

"It's too hazardous," Luke replied. "Jason mentioned that the Sons of the Sith might be involved in this. And whether or not they're actually dark-side users, they're dangerous. You're staying here until your dad gets home."

Trapper humphed grumpily. Luke couldn't blame the boy, actually. He knew what it was like to have his desires to experience true adventure quashed. But now that he was older and had actually had more than his share of "adventure," he could see where Uncle Owen was coming from. This project was far too dangerous for a nine-year-old boy.

"If I can't come with you, why'd you wake me up in the first place?" Trapper demanded.

"To let you know where I would be," Luke replied. "It shouldn't take long. Besides, your dad will be home in a few hours…"

"And he'll probably freak out when he finds you've disappeared," Trapper shot back.

"All the more reason for you to stay behind," Luke told him. "So you can let him know."

A car horn blared, and Luke went outside, Trapper still dogging his heels. They made an odd pair at the moment, Luke thought – he back in his Rebel fatigues, Trapper in droid pajamas and slippers.

"Get back in the house, Trapper," Luke ordered.

"I can help you out!" he insisted. "I can guard your back…"

Luke opened the passenger door of the Church's Toyota, taking a seat beside Vader. "Look, Trapper, I know you want to have an adventure with Luke Skywalker, but you can't come! It's too dangerous! This isn't a game or a movie – it's real. You could be seriously hurt…"

Trapper scrambled into the back seat. "Rachel gets to come. Why can't I?"

"Rachel!" Luke exclaimed, turning around. Sure enough, the little girl was curled up and asleep in the back seat, still clutching Mori the Wookie.

"She's not coming with us," Vader told Trapper. "I'm dropping her off with your father. Her parents are not home…"

"Dad's not home either," Trapper replied. "He had a late meeting."

Vader made an exasperated snarling sound before replying. "Take her in the house, Trapper. If you want to be of use to us, watch her. I've already left a message at her parent's house stating that she will be here…"

"I can watch her just fine back here," Trapper shot back. "C'mon, I won't even get out of the car!"

Luke sighed. "All right, you win. But you'll do exactly as we say. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" Trapper barked, saluting.

Vader steered the Toyota back onto the road, handling the vehicle pretty well for someone who'd only been driving Earth cars for a few days. "I do not approve of bringing children on this escapade," he said irritably. "It's a recipe for disaster."

"I don't like it either," Luke replied. "But when you stop and think about it, maybe it's for the best. Austin, Conrad, and Diana trust us with their kids. I think they'd be happier knowing we were around them than if we'd left them alone at Austin's house."

"I still think it's unwise," Vader rejoined. "There's no telling what can happen with a hard-headed brat underfoot."

"I'm not a hard-headed brat, you cranky old-fart cyborg!" Trapper retorted.

"What did you call me!" bellowed Vader, craning his neck around in an attempt to glare at the boy.

"Shut up both of you!" Luke ordered. "We're going to need to cooperate if we're going to rescue Boba Fett. Let's try to be civil for however long it takes."

Vader turned back around to keep an eye on the road. "Spoiled brat," he muttered.

"Tin-head," grumbled Trapper, sticking his tongue out at the back of Vader's helmet.

Luke closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. This was going to be a long rescue mission…

_/Luke./_

His eyes flew open. What was that? It sounded suspiciously like another voice, one that had addressed him last on Dagobah, commanding him to face and destroy his father… but it couldn't be…

_/Luke./_

"Obi-wan?" he said in the faintest whisper.

_/If you seek to rescue Boba Fett, do not go to the service station. You'll only be wasting your time. Go to the Historic Lodge on White Deer River. You'll find him there. Be quick… and be very careful./_

He turned to relay the order to Vader, but either his father had received a similar message or he'd been eavesdropping on Luke's conversation. He abruptly made a U-turn and began heading away from downtown Star City.

"Hey, where you going?" demanded Trapper. "Granite Street's the other way!"

"Fett's not there," Vader replied. "He is at the Historic Lodge."

"The old lodge?" Trapper inquired. "They boarded that place up years ago!"

"Which makes it a perfect place for the Sons of the Sith to meet," Luke said, catching on. "If no one else goes there, they'll be undiscovered."

Vader turned off the main road and navigated the Toyota down a deeply rutted dirt road. "What disturbs me is what Fett is doing among such scum. He has told me several times that he has no intention of believing in the Force, and that all who claim to follow it are simply fanatics."

"Maybe there's a bounty out for their leaders," suggested Luke.

"That does make sense," Vader agreed. "But we will have to act with stealth. I know from experience that those who work in secret will do anything to see their work remains secret."

"Can the hard-headed spoiled brat make a suggestion, Darth?" asked Trapper.

"What suggestion?"

"If you wanna be stealthy, turn off your headlights," Trapper advised. "Or else they'll see you coming a mile away."

"Very well." He deactivated the lights. "I can use the Force to navigate."

"Now are you glad you brought me along?" Trapper said with a huge grin.

"Don't get cocky," Luke advised. "Or you may find yourself walking home."

_Break…_

The old White Deer Lodge had been declared unsafe and closed seven years ago, when a group of Boy Scouts had fallen through the termite-infested floor and sued the Park Service. Called "the town's worst safety and fire hazard" by most of the locals and regular visitors, the only reason the building hadn't had a date with a bulldozer yet was the ongoing lawsuit the Star City Historic Society was waging against the city, fighting to restore the lodge. While politicians raged and citizens complained about the eyesore, visiting fans occasionally broke in to leave their signatures on the graffiti-plastered walls, resulting in about five emergency room visits every year.

Fett took careful note of the locations of windows and alternate exits as he entered the building. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect here, but it behooved him to ensure that he had a quick way out if the worst occurred.

About twenty-five men and women, ranging in age from fifteen to sixty and garbed in costumes representing either Star Wars villains or dark versions of hero characters, clustered in groups all around the lodge, carefully avoiding gaping holes in the floor. There was nothing here to indicate a stereotypical image of a cult – no runes or symbols on the walls, no lit candles, no incense, no weird chanting, no altar or pulpit. Someone had set up a stereo system in one corner to play music from the Star Wars soundtrack, and a fire glittered in the fireplace for the first time in years. If Fett didn't know better, he'd say this was nothing more than a midnight meeting of any ordinary fan club.

A hand clamped on his shoulder, and he turned to see a Darth Maul lookalike smiling pleasantly at him, an unnerving sight all by itself.

"You must be Robert," the false Sith noted. "Our newest recruit."

Fett nodded.

"We're very happy to welcome you to the brotherhood," he said in a voice as smooth as velvet. "I'm Sith Master Ramirez, and it is my duty to welcome and tutor our newest Padawans."

"I'm eager to learn," Fett replied, feeling an odd chill go up his spine. They were calling him Padawan already… and he'd sworn to never get involved with Force-users.

"I must ask you to come this way," Ramirez told him, taking him by the arm and leading him toward a curtained-off alcove.

"Why?" he demanded, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

"For the cleansing," he replied.

A forty-something Asian woman in silvery-black Jedi robes motioned him behind the curtain. "All right, undress," she ordered in a no-nonsense tone. "Down to the shorts."

He glowered at her.

"C'mon, I've raised five boys and have been married three times," she snapped. "I'm sure I won't see anything new."

Reluctantly he shed the armor, bodyglove, and all accompanying hardware, leaving only the helmet and his undergarments. "Done."

"Helmet too," she ordered.

"Helmet stays."

"Helmet off."

"Helmet stays."

"Don't make me fight you to get it off."

"Bring it on, lady."

"Fine, it stays," she snorted, then picked up a bowl of scented water and wiped his entire body down. Tossing the cloth aside, she motioned for him to clothe himself again.

"What's the point of the cleansing?" he asked as he dressed.

"Eh, nothing symbolic," she replied casually. "Just a convenient way to search the new recruits."

"For weapons?"

"Wiretaps. The police're always trying to send their undercover boys in; we have to plug the leaks somehow."

That made sense. There wasn't much in the way of recording equipment one could unobtrusively fit in their shorts. What most would take as a ceremonial act was actually a creative means of ensuring the Sons of the Sith's activities remained a secret.

When he stepped out of the alcove, Ramirez led him toward a folding table that had been set up before the fireplace and draped with a scarlet-and-black cloth. Laid out in a neat row were six sets of surgical tools – sterile knives, hypodermic needles, plastic-wrapped gauze bandages – all gleaming eerily in the flickering light. Fett felt his stomach clench. He'd experienced a lot of gruesome stuff in his life and never flinched, but somehow this was far worse, even though he'd seen nothing in the line of blood yet. Somehow he got the feeling that he was jumping into a pool whose depths he hadn't tested yet.

This was unknown territory to him, and it unsettled him deeply.

Ramirez escorted two more recruits to the table, then took his place among the other members. On Fett's left hand stood another Vader impersonator who looked as skittish as an unbroken kaadu, shifting from one foot to another as if swaying in the breeze. On his right was a young woman, thin to the point of being skeletal, with stringy platinum-blond hair pulled back at the temples and a black leather dress that resembled one Padme had worn in "Attack of the Clones."

"Enter Sith Leader Darth Quinzain," announced the woman who had cleansed Fett. "All salute!"

As one those gathered placed their fists over their hearts. Fett copied the maneuver as the skunk-haired man he'd met at the convenience store strode toward the fireplace, halting before the three recruits and passing a hand over each one's head.

"At ease, my students," he purred. "The dark side of the Force smiles upon you for choosing the strength and power it offers. Today you will begin your training in the arts of the Sith, beginning with being matched to an appropriate Master."

Three members stepped forward at Quinzain's gesture. Fett recognized one as Polowski and another as the Sith-Tusken from the store; the last was a copy of the Emperor's Hand Mara Jade.

"Darth Johnson, Darth Polowski, and Darth Hainsworth have been chosen to serve as your personal instructors," Quinzain explained. "Tonight, at this ceremony, you will be bonded to your master – with a bond of blood."

_/This is it/ _Fett thought, preparing for the inevitable. Now they would bring out the cat and perform a blood sacrifice. He formulated a plan in his mind – he would charge whoever was bringing Vincent in, snatch the animal, and fire a few shots to stir things up. During the ensuing chaos it would be a simple matter to dive out the window…

"Each of you Padawans will take a knife," Quinzain went on. "You will use it to draw blood from your arm. Your selected Master will do the same. Darth Ramirez will then collect a measure of your blood and your Master's. You will inject yourself with your Master's blood, and your Master will do the same with your blood. In this way you will be bound, Master to Padawan, instructor to learner… and in this way you will be bound to the New Sith Order."

"Question!" the blond recruit demanded in a loud, obnoxious voice that indicated that she wasn't entirely in control of her faculties. "Haven't you people heard of AIDS?"

"I can assure you, madam, that disease is no concern," Quinzain replied slickly. "If the dark side approves of you as an apprentice, then it will ensure that you live. If it disapproves… it was nice knowing you."

Fett swore under his breath. So much for the blood-sacrifice theory.

Ramirez took the first knife and handed it to the Vader-imposter recruit. "We'll begin with you, Staples," he said in a kindly voice. "Don't be afraid. You're entirely safe."

The recruit didn't seem so sure – the knife shook dangerously in his hand. Fett had a feeling that this man had somehow been suckered into this without his knowledge and had just now realized he was in way over his head.

_/Time to break up this party/ _he decided, and he strode toward the center of the room.

"Padawan, you're interrupting the ceremony!" Ramirez barked.

"Hang the ceremony," Fett snarled. "I'm not here to join your twisted Sith cult."

Polowski uttered a string of profanity that would have made a Hutt blush. "I knew you were a $#!ing spy!"

"Hardly a spy," Fett replied. "More of a… private investigator."

The Vader recruit dropped the knife and melted back into the crowd, obviously relieved that Fett's distraction had spared him from making a grievous mistake.

Quinzain smiled indulgently, gazing at Fett like a hungry acklay eyeing a particularly plump reek calf. "And what is it that you want, my friend? Information? You'll find the Sons of the Sith are quite willing to talk, so long as you never breathe a word about what you've seen here."

"I'm looking for this," Fett replied, pulling the photo of Vincent from his belt pouch and holding it over his head. "I was informed that you are in possession of this cat, and in exchange for my silence I demand that the animal be returned to me unharmed…"

Mocking laughter met his declaration. The Mara Jade lookalike was sniggering behind her hands, and Polowski was doubled over and positively roaring with mirth. Quinzain smiled even more widely.

"What," he inquired amusedly, "in the name of Exar Kun do you think the Sons of the Sith would want with a _cat_?"

"I thought you were involved in animal sacrifice…" Fett explained rather lamely.

Another wave of laughter filled the building. Quinzain chortled and wiped tears from his eyes.

"Ah my friend, you've been another victim of the rumors," he noted.

"He must've seen us by the Ark, boss," Polowski pointed out.

"Ah yes, that must be why he's here," Quinzain realized. "Explain our actions then, Polowski."

"Glady." He leveled a masked gaze at Fett. "I know Mrs. Albany quite well – she was my fifth-grade teacher before she retired. I mow her lawn and pick up her groceries every week in return for use of her vehicle. Quinzain and I saw her cat this morning and decided to take him back to her, but he scratched us up pretty bad and took off." He shrugged. "Tough luck about that, but cats're cheap at the shelters."

"I don't believe you," Fett snarled.

"That hardly matters," Quinzain replied. "You've seen too much anyhow to be allowed to leave." He nodded at Ramirez, who stepped forward and held a knife to Fett's chest.

"The choice is yours," Quinzain went on. "You can join us… or die."

Fett calmly reached for his blaster, carefully planning his next few moves. He would have to kill Ramirez; there was no other way. It might also be necessary to pump a few shots into Polowski, as he was the closest and the greatest threat. After that, he would have to clear a path to the nearest window, about ten feet away…

The blaster was gone.

"Oh, and a word of advice, _Fett,_" Quinzain went on, emphasizing his name. "Next time someone asks you to undress, keep an eye on your discarded clothing. We found some… interesting things in your armor while Darth Tang was cleansing you."

It couldn't be! Fett frantically assessed his weaponry. All guns and knives were gone, his dart gun had been emptied of ammunition, and what hadn't been taken had been deactivated. When he glanced to his right, he saw the red-and-black stormtrooper holding a knapsack overflowing with weaponry – HIS weaponry.

"Brothers and sisters in the dark side!" Quinzain shouted. "This is no common man before us! This is Boba Fett – the son of Jango Fett, the slayer of the Almighty Sarlaac, the most legendary bounty hunter in the galaxy… and the first sign of the coming of the Empire we have awaited so long!"

The crowd bellowed in triumph.

_/Oh, poodoo/ _Fett thought, now knowing what it felt like to be at the other end of the hunter's gun.

_Break…_

The Toyota rumbled to a halt about a hundred yards from the lodge, remaining in the trees to hide it from view in case the Sons of the Sith had posted guards. Vader slipped out of the car and slunk forward to assess the situation. Luke, meanwhile, turned to address Trapper.

"Stay here," he ordered. "Keep low so no one sees you. If Rachel wakes up, keep her quiet."

Trapper nodded seriously. "All right, Luke."

Vader was waiting by the car's hood when Luke got out.

"I counted at least ten vehicles outside the lodge," he reported. "There are no guards outside the building. There is a man in the doorway, but I cannot tell if he is a sentry or just a latecomer. I detected no electronic surveillance."

"So far, so good," Luke replied.

Vader stared at the building a moment, oddly pensive. "It was Obi-wan who told you Fett would be here, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because he spoke to me as well." Was that regret in his tone? "I don't understand it. I slew him in cold blood, I destroyed the Order, I betrayed his trust… why would he still elect to help me and make contact with me?"

Luke clasped his father's arm. "Maybe because he's finally realizing that there's some good in you," he suggested.

Vader snorted. "Obi-wan was a stubborn man. I highly doubt he can change his mind that rapidly."

"We can debate this after we've rescued Fett. Right now we're burning time."

"Right." Vader strode toward the building. "I will handle the sentry."

The man in the doorway – a Vader impersonator – was acting decidedly odd. He was crouching, rubbing his arms as if chilled, doubled over as if debating whether or not to lose his lunch on the ground. He couldn't be a guard or sentry – more likely he was a visitor or new member who was having second thoughts about joining the Sons.

"I don't think he's dangerous," Luke told Vader.

"I will decide that for myself." Vader approached the man and clamped a powerful hand on his arm, hoisting him upright. The man stared at Vader, obviously startled.

"Tell us what's going on in there," he ordered.

The man shook his head frantically.

"Tell us now!" he barked impatiently.

The imposter stared fixedly at Luke. Somehow, despite the fact that he'd seen dozens of false Darth Vaders since arriving in Star City, realization hit. He'd seen him before, had even spoken with him in a fashion…

"Nick!" he exclaimed. "Nick Staples!"

It was Vader's turn to stare at him. "You know this man?"

"I met him today when Trapper and I went to the movies," Luke explained. "He's deaf, he can't hear you…"

Nick slumped to the ground as Vader released his arm, shuddering. Luke bent down and helped him back to his feet.

"You okay?" he mouthed.

Nick pulled his notepad from his belt and hastily scrawled something:

_/You shouldn't have come./_

Vader took the pad from Nick and wrote a reply. _/We have an associate in that building, and we believe he is in possible danger. You will help us rescue him, or we will turn you over to the proper authorities. It is your decision./_

_/No choice there – I'll help you. I'm not afraid of the authorities – I have no criminal record./_

Luke wrote the reply this time. _/Why are you here, Nick? I don't understand. I don't know you very well, but you're still the last person I'd expect to see mixed up in this./_

_/Please, Nick… or I suppose it's Luke? And Vader? The Sith leader already discovered Fett's identity in the lodge; I assume he's the "associate" you're rescuing/_

Vader nodded. "He's very observant."

_/Before you pass judgment on me, please hear me out/ _Nick continued, his hands trembling as he scrawled the words.

_/Very well/ _Vader replied. _/We are short on time, so make your explanation brief./_

_/Jenna's brother went to high school with me back in Newport. He's deaf as well, which is how she's so familiar with sign language. When I told my friend I was moving to Colorado, he asked me to look up his sister down there and try to help her. She'd fallen into a rough crowd, had been arrested for possession of marijuana and was quite likely doing harder drugs as well. I promised to do all I could for her. How was I to know that she was involved in… this/ _He gestured helplessly toward the lodge.

_/She invited me to the meeting tonight, telling me that if I truly wanted to help her, I had to understand her world. I agreed. But by the time I realized just how totally she'd fallen for the madness and delusions that make up the Sons of the Sith's beliefs, I was in too deep. Once I got in, I couldn't get out. Only your friend showing up and accidentally blowing his cover saved me from irrevocably becoming one of them./_

Vader took the notepad from him and slowly wrote a reply. _/It would seem that we have more in common than you realize./_

Luke wondered what that meant. But before he could ask, an exultant roar echoed from the lodge.

"That can't be good," Luke worried.

_/Nick, we will need your help/ _Vader wrote. _/You are more familiar with this territory than either of us. If we are to get Fett out of there in one piece, your cooperation is necessary./_

Nick hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. He motioned for them to follow him.


	6. Unlikely Heroes, Unlikely Villains

**Chapter 6 – Unlikely Heroes, Unlikely Villains**

Vader's worst fears were realized when they entered the building – Fett was at the hub of the action, surrounded by cheering, wildly gesturing fanatics, a Darth Maul impersonator holding a knife to his chest. So the young man had been correct. Fett's identity had been uncovered. The situation had become very delicate.

Nick passed a note to the others. _/Try to keep a low profile. Pretend you're members./_

_/That will do little good/ _Vader wrote in reply. _/If we are to rescue him, we must take action now./_

_/That would be insane! They think the Empire is coming to glorify them and make them true Sith! To you, you're practically their Second Coming, their Armageddon! If you tell them who you are, they'll go absolutely nuts/_

_/Then perhaps the ensuing chaos will enable us to escape more easily/ _he replied via clipboard.

Nick just stared at Vader as if he'd gone crazy.

"Draw your saber, Luke," Vader whispered. "We'll fight together."

Luke grinned and pulled the weapon from his belt. "Ready to fight side by side for a change, Father?"

He smiled behind his mask as he lifted his lightsaber. "I've known this day would come. I just never thought these would be the circumstances."

A man in Sith robes with black-and-white hair raised both hands, and the crowd went silent.

"Boba Fett, choose now," he boomed. "Join us, and learn the glory of the dark side… or perish."

Fett raised one hand in a gesture the Vader's Elite had described to Luke and Vader as the ultimate insult to Stargeeks – the Trekkie symbol. "Chaos take your blasted Sons of the Sith."

"Oooh, he's asking for a painful death," snarled someone in the crowd.

"Shut up, Polowski," snapped the ringleader. "He has spirit. I admire that in a foe. Thus, he will be granted the privilege of dying at my hand."

"I think not," Vader replied loud enough for all to hear, and he ignited his saber.

The snap-hiss of the weapon snuffed out all other sound like a gust of wind extinguishing a candle. All eyes locked on the Dark Lord, and expressions of awe crossed every face.

Almost. The Sons of the Sith leader gave Vader a look of inexplicable hatred.

"Master," breathed a Vader impersonator, dropping to his knees. "A true Dark Lord at last."

"My lord," murmured a young woman in Mara Jade attire, following her comrade's example.

"Get up the two of you," snarled the leader. "Polowski, Hainsworth, you're making fools of yourselves."

"Darth Quinzain, it's as you prophesied!" protested the Darth Maul impersonator, his knife never leaving Fett's heart. "The Empire has come to honor us!"

_/Quinzain/ _Why did that name seem familiar all of a sudden? He searched his memory. He had yet to meet anyone on Earth with the name of Quinzain…

"My dear Darth Ramirez, wasn't it you who bragged to me last week that you had seen 'Return of the Jedi' no less than fifty-seven times?" Quinzain inquired.

"Yes, why?"

"Then how is it," he demanded, his features twisting into a hateful grimace, "that you do not recall the treason that Darth Vader inflicted upon the Order?" He pointed an accusatory finger at Vader. "This man slaughtered the mightiest Sith in the galaxy and betrayed the Order! He promised his loyalty to the dark side, and then he turned around and spit in its face! He is no true Sith! He is a traitor!" A sudden change came over his features, and he gave a smooth, chilling smile. "And we all know what must be done with traitors to the Order."

_/Oh, Sithspawn/ _Vader thought. What had seemed a good idea at the time had just backfired completely. He hadn't seen the final movie; how was he to know that it would end with his turning on the Empire?

"Boss!" came a shout from the back of the room. "We've got something that might interest you!"

"Let me go, you freaks of nature!" screamed an angry voice that was all too familiar to Vader.

Two men, one in Imperial Royal Guard attire, the other dressed as a sort of dark-sider Tusken, were forcibly dragging in Trapper, who was kicking and swinging and generally making things difficult for his captors. Behind them came a woman in black leather, carrying a bleary-eyed, puzzled Rachel.

_/No/ _he thought desperately. _/Not the children…/_

"Ah, and you brought more guests," Quinzain purred. "Apprentices of yours?" He arched an eyebrow. "Or perhaps not; training children hasn't exactly been your style in the literature, has it? Still, they might make excellent additions to the Sith Order… we could use the young blood…"

"Over my dead body," Luke hissed, igniting his saber.

Quinzain's eyes widened slightly, then he threw his head back and cackled maniacally.

"Luke Skywalker!" he cried exultantly. "Following in his father's footsteps! Oh, this is almost too good to be true!"

The Sons of the Sith closed in to surround them. Luke, Vader, and Fett suddenly found themselves at the center of the room, closed in on all sides by hard-eyed dark-side extremists.

"Obviously, you've come to rescue your comrade," Quinzain noted, gesturing toward Fett. "So let's make this simple – a trade. Life for life, blood for blood. Fett and your own lives for the children."

Vader didn't even stop to consider. "No."

Quinzain smiled mockingly. "Ah, the iron heart has softened. You've become compassionate, weak, allowing your defenses to crumble and fall." He leaned forward slightly. "The boy and girl are of no consequence to the Empire, Vader. Give them to me. Escape with your own life and the lives of your greatest servants. It is the only way."

"You will take no lives today," Vader snarled. "Not mine, not the children's, not Luke or Fett's. Your life is mine."

"Oh no, Vader. It is your life that will be mine today."

"You think yourself a match for a true Force-user?" Vader demanded, raising his saber in a battle stance.

"I'm the greatest Force-user that ever lived!" cried Quinzain. "Even more so than you!"

And lighting – honest-to-goodness blue Force lightining – sprang from his fingers and streaked forward, just barely blocked by a stunned Vader's lightsaber.

_/He's a Jedi/ _Vader thought, startled.

"What the stang?" gaped Luke.

Quinzain lowered his hands, still wearing that purely evil smile. "You three were not the first, you know. There were others. Granted, they suffered horrible fates – imprisoned as criminals, institutionalized as psychotics, hanged and burned as witches. Only I…" He gestured at himself. "…was able to integrate myself among the people here to survive. Only I was wise enough to remain in the shadows and observe, until at last I could pass myself off as one of them… until the time was right."

At last Vader realized where he'd heard the name before. "Jedi Padawan Quinzain. You were an apprentice of Dooku's."

"Yes, Lord Vader. Dooku was my Master. He trained me shortly after Qui-gon Jinn was Knighted. And today his death shall be avenged." He raised his voice. "Men, kill Skywalker and Fett! But Vader is mine!"

The crowd surged forward to take on the others. Luke raised his saber as a shield to deflect the staccato gunfire that thudded toward him, the plasmatic blade incinerating the bullets before they could contact him. Fett, meanwhile, grabbed Darth Ramirez's arm in a teras kasi grip and snapped his wrist before driving him to the ground with a well-placed foot in the gut. Even unarmed, Fett was not one to be trifled with.

Before he could see anything else, Quinzain ignited his own weapon, a yellow-bladed weapon that cast his features in a sickly light.

"We are the Sith now, Vader," Quinzain snarled. "And once we've crafted our lightsabers, we will be invincible. Earth is only a base – our vision encompasses all known space! But first, we must abolish the traitor to the Order."

Vader lunged, and their blades met with a sizzling crack. Quinzain was mad – brilliant but insane, his mind irrevocably twisted by the dark side. And he would drag dozens of people down into madness with him if left unchecked… and eventually lead a deadly force far more destructive than the simple annoyance of a small-town gang. He had to destroy the man, and quickly.

_Break…_

After felling Ramirez, Fett's next goal was to find where his weapons were. He felt absolutely naked without his blaster at his side. Ducking the frenzied but clumsy lunge of a robed Palpatine imposter, he quickly scanned the crowd.

There! The red-and-black stormtrooper was digging through his pack, no doubt in search of a suitable weapon of her own. He snatched the pack from her hands, but not before she'd yanked a blaster free and started firing on him. Dropping to the floor to dodge her fire, he kicked her legs out from under her and grabbed the gun as it fell from her grasp.

She wasn't done yet. Before he could pull the bag out of her reach she'd plunged her hand in, questing for another weapon. Her fingers closed around something, but before either of them could identify it another member of the Sons slammed into them, sending the item flying from her grasp.

It was his flamethrower.

_/Oh, stang it all/ _he thought as the weapon sailed across the room and landed in the fireplace, centimeters from the glowing flames.

"Back away!" he shouted. "It's going to blow!"

Too late. With a dull thud the flamethrower's fuel ignited and detonated, sending fire billowing from the fireplace and up the walls. Within seconds the wall of the lodge was burning fast.

"Now look what you've done!" the woman exclaimed in dismay, and she ran for the exit.

Fett threw the knapsack over one shoulder and looked around for the others. This place was going up in smoke fast. If they didn't get out of here shortly…

Polowski charged him, a knife held high, a scream of rage tearing from his throat. Fett bent low and caught the man in the stomach, using his own momentum to flip him and send him smashing into the folding table. It collapsed under Polowski's weight, sending him, winded and moaning, to the rotting floor.

"Boba!"

Fett whirled. Trapper was in the clutches of Ramirez, who had a pistol jammed under the boy's chin and was glowering at Fett with a sly expression.

"It would be so easy," he said smoothly. "A twitch of the finger. You should know, bounty hunter…"

"Don't you dare," Fett snarled, raising his blaster.

"If you don't put the gun down, I WILL dare…"

From the rafters of the lodge came a hideous yowl, and a mass of gray-tan fur and claws landed on Ramirez's shaved-bald scalp, latching on with a crazed fury.

_/Oh, NOW I find the stupid animal/ _Fett thought exasperatedly.

The Sith wannabe howled and threw both arms up to knock the creature down, and his gun fired harmlessly at the ceiling. Trapper staggered free of his grip and bolted for the door.

Fett strode easily toward Ramirez, plucked the cat from his head, and thunked him solidly in the back of the skull with the butt of his blaster rifle.

"Sweet dreams," he wished the man before hauling a still-spitting Vincent out.

_Break…_

Vader and Quinzain had been closest to the fireplace, so they were the first to feel the explosion of heat that almost knocked them to their knees. In less than thirty seconds the wooden wall of the lodge, tinder-dry from the recent heat wave and considerable age, became a curtain of flame. The fighting broke up as Sons of the Sith poured out of the lodge, gasping for air.

Quinzain hacked at Vader's defenses, sweat pouring down his face, his expression crazed with blood lust. He was out of practice, Vader realized. It had been years since he'd last raised a saber against a foe, and it showed in his jerky movements and clumsy footwork. He had an advantage here, and it would not take much for him to overpower the man and deal a death blow…

But a piercing scream tore through his thoughts.

The fighters' eyes turned to the source of the sound – Rachel. The reality of where she was and what was happening had finally sunk in, and she was petrified with fright.

Quinzain's expression became radiant with malevolent glee. Before Vader could react, a blast of electricity to the chest knocked him to the ground. The floorboards beneath him groaned and cracked ominously with the impact.

Rachel screamed again. Dazed from the attack, he raised his head to see Quinzain's hand gripping her arm, his saber poised to strike…

The expression on her face – a terror so pure and overwhelming it consumed all other thought – seared through his mind, touching another memory of another life…

…of a boy's expression of absolute trust giving way to horror as a saber ignited in Vader's palm… of the frightened whimpers and tears of the younglings that had emerged hesitantly from hiding, only to face a greater horror… of innocence brutally cut short with a single, deadly blow…

_/No! Not Rachel! Not her too! No/_

A blast of something powerful, of an indescribable energy – of light! – coursed through his limbs, and in a single fluid movement he was on his feet and at Rachel's side, one arm encircling her, shielding her from what was to come… and the other arm gesturing toward the flaming ceiling just over Quinzain's head.

The fallen Jedi gave a scream of rage and agony as the blazing beams collapsed upon him, scorching robes and skin, crushing and burning. Smoke and sizzling vapors ballooned outward, enveloping Vader and Rachel, and his lungs spasmed at the contact. Choking on the tainted air, he lifted Rachel to his shoulder and ran for the exit.

Rachel clung to him, hiding her face in the crook between neck and shoulder. "He was a bad guy, wasn't he? Like the Emperor?"

Vader was coughing too hard to reply. Falling to his knees, he struggled to regain his breath.

"C'mon, Father!" Luke exclaimed, taking Rachel from his arms and pulling him to the door. "This place is going to collapse any second!"

Vader dragged himself to his feet and staggered toward the door, his head spinning from lack of oxygen. All around them cinders danced, guns went off as the battle continued in fits and spurts outside, flames crackled all around… just as they had in Rachel's vision.

The warm summer air outside the lodge felt blessedly cool to them as they emerged from the fire… but they didn't get much time to enjoy it. For no less then eight police cruisers and two fire engines were now surrounding the lodge, and more emergency vehicles were arriving.

"Hands up!" an officer barked, leveling his pistol at Luke, Vader, and Fett.

"Do as he says," Luke advised, setting Rachel down. "Or he'll think we're Sons of the Sith."

Vader complied, though he was still coughing and struggling for breath. Fett grumbled but raised his arms, one hand still clutching the cat by the scruff of the neck.

"We're in big trouble, aren't we?" asked Rachel with her usual forthrightness.

At the moment, Vader was past caring. All that mattered now was that they had survived… and that he had, in some small way, atoned for his grievous crimes at the Jedi Temple. In saving Rachel from a similar fate, perhaps he had finally healed that old wound. It still didn't totally rectify the situation, of course, but then, nothing ever totally could.

"I believe," Fett said dryly, "that this has just become my least favorite planet in the galaxy."

_Break…_

Austin knew something was wrong the moment he entered the house. For one thing, the hide-a-bed was still folded away inside the couch. For another thing, someone had left the TV on, and the evening news was still filling the darkened living room with bluish light. And there was that odd sense that something else was going on, something he couldn't quite put his finger on…

"Austin Powers!"

He whirled. Conrad and Diana Church had just stormed in through his front door, still in their best clothing from their dinner tonight. Diana seemed frazzled, but Conrad looked fit to kill.

"Where's Rachel?" Conrad demanded.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Austin replied. "I haven't been home all day."

"Then what about this?" Conrad said angrily, thrusting a note at him. "Vader said he was taking Rachel to stay with you while he took care of some 'business…'"

Austin's stomach lurched. Was it possible that Vader had found a way to leave the planet… and had elected to take Rachel with him as a new apprentice?

The phone rang. He sighed. Why did everything have to happen at once?

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Austin assured them, picking up the receiver. "Yes?"

"Any sign of Fett?"

"Excuse me?"

"Boba Fett!" Jason exclaimed. "Luke and Vader said they were gonna look for Boba Fett! We wanted to know if they'd found them yet…"

Diana screamed.

"What is…" began Austin, then his gaze fell on the TV screen. "Oh, son of a… Jason, channel four now!"

A breaking news story was being broadcast – a live shot of the Star City Historic Lodge going up in flames. Police cars, ambulances, and fire engines surrounded the building, making the entire scene flash eerily. Dozens of costumed men and women were being handcuffed, searched, and treated for injuries… and was that his son in the thick of them, exchanging heated words with a police officer?

"Rachel!" shouted Conrad. Sure enough, his daughter was seated on the hood of a police cruiser, holding Mori and looking for all the world as if she were watching an engrossing TV show.

"Three guesses where our intergalactic buddies are," Jason said in a long-suffering tone.

"Everyone get in the van now!" Conrad ordered.


	7. The Secret Keepers

**Chapter 7 – The Secret Keepers**

If Luke thought their "rescue team" would be hailed as heroes for bringing an end to the treachery and plotting of the Sons of the Sith, he was sorely mistaken.

"You have the right to remain silent!" barked an officer, shoving Luke against the side of a police cruiser and clapping cuffs over his wrists.

"Hey!" Luke cried in protest. "I'm not a Sith!"

The air filled with steam as the fire fighters turned their massive hoses onto the blaze. The lodge was a loss, but the least they could do was ensure that the flames didn't spread to the surrounding forest. As dry as this summer had been so far, a forest fire could prove disastrous to the town. Meanwhile, paramedics began treating gunshot wounds, burns, knife gashes, and other injuries. Ramirez was strapped, still unconscious, to a backboard and whisked out of sight. Other members of the cult, including the still-raging Polowski, were being handcuffed and piled into police cars and vans. There was no sign of Quinzain – but Luke had the feeling they would uncover his bones when they searched the rubble of the lodge tomorrow.

"Hands against the car," ordered another officer, pushing Vader against the hood of the cruiser. "Jones, Derby, pat him down."

Had circumstances been different, Luke might have been highly amused at the sight of a nonplussed Vader leaning against the hood of an Earth automobile, two police officers frisking him. But at the moment Luke's only thought was that they were about to be uncovered as interstellar shipwreck victims… and a panic would start on this remote world.

"I found something hard!" one officer announced, his hand pausing over Vader's ribs as he touched one of his cybernetic components.

"Strip him down, we can't take chances," his superior advised.

"Don't you get it?" shouted Luke. "We're not Sons of the Sith!"

"Then explain what you were doing at their headquarters," ordered the cop behind him.

"It's a long story…" Luke began.

"And we'll have plenty of time to hear it at the station," the officer replied.

"They're alien visitors!" bellowed Polowski, wrestling against the grips of the cops who were trying to shove him into a police car. "That's Luke Skywalker! And that's Darth Vader!"

"Keep suicide watch on that one at the jail, he's going to be a doozy when withdrawal hits," Luke's captor said with a roll of his eyes. "Hate dealing with these sky-high weirdos…"

"I'm not on drugs!" he screamed hysterically. "I saw him slay our master with the dark side of the Force! He's a Lord of the Sith! And you dare try to strip-search a Lord of the Sith?"

"I don't care if he's Lord of the Sith, Lord of the Rings, or Lord of the Dance!" came the irritated reply. "He's not getting special treatment!"

"He's Darth Vader!" Polowski howled. "He'll be the death of you! He's the Chosen One, he's the greatest Force user that ever lived…"

"And YOU are violating your parole carrying this, Mr. Troy Polowski," a female officer noted dryly, pulling a Magnum from his belt. "Get in the car, buddy."

Vader broke into another spasm of coughing, his massive frame shaking with every hack. Luke watched, concerned. He knew his father's lungs had been badly damaged – though by what he wasn't entirely sure – and inhaling so much smoke in the lodge couldn't be good for him. He needed a doctor's attention, and fast. Though how they could manage that without also blowing their cover was beyond him…

People shouted in dismay as a mini-van drove straight through the police-tape barrier and pulled to a halt in the center of the maelstrom. A few officers ran forward to halt the passengers, but Austin, the Churches, and the Osmonds simply pushed past and ran forward to confront the three men.

"What's going on here?" demanded Conrad.

"Where's Rachel?" pleaded Diana.

"Where have you been all day, Fett?" complained Patrick.

"And for Sifo-Dyas' sake, what are you doing with our neighbor's cat?" shrieked Jason.

Austin alone was silent. He took in the scene before him with a half-amused, half-perplexed expression – Luke Skywalker handcuffed and shoved up against the side of a cop car; Boba Fett with both hands still in the air, one clutching a bedraggled, annoyed-looking cat by the loose skin over its neck; and Darth Vader with both hands on the hood of the cruiser, being frisked by a couple of completely clueless police officers.

"Oh goody," Austin said at last, every syllable soaked with sarcasm. "I can hardly wait to hear THIS one explained."

"Dad, it was totally wicked!" exclaimed Trapper, breaking off his argument with a cop to run to his dad. "You should've seen it, it was better than the movies…"

"We'll need to take your son down to the station for questioning," the officer he'd been fighting with cut in. "We need to get all this straightened out as soon as possible."

Austin shook his head. "What's to straighten out? I had a friend of the family staying over, they decided to go out and go stargazing, they got kidnapped by the local goons… at least, that's what it looks like to me." He motioned to the cop holding Luke against the cruiser. "Why don't you uncuff Nick and I'll take him home?"

The officer's eyes narrowed. "Don't pull a fast one on me, Mr. Powers."

"C'mon, Sergeant Wilcox, we play poker together," Austin replied easily. "You know I can't bluff to save my life. Those three are friends." He pointed at Luke, Vader, and Fett. "I don't see why you need to take them to the station when they were just innocent bystanders…"

"Mr. Powers, you're a respected person in this town," Sergeant Wilcox replied. "I'm liable to trust you in most matters. But this is bigger than your friends getting mixed up with the local goons – this could result in some serious charges for trespassing, arson, assault, and possession of drugs and illegal firearms, to scratch the surface. We need all the information we can get, and your friends have probably seen enough in there to put the Sons of the Sith in prison for a long time."

A cream-colored Cadillac sedan pulled up next to the Church's van, and Mrs. Albany opened the door, looking less like somebody's grandmother and more like a determined soldier.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Jason as Patrick ran over to help their neighbor out of her car.

"I thought I saw Vincent on the news!" she snapped, storming toward Sergeant Wilcox.

"Mrs. Albany!" shouted Polowski, once again fighting his way out of the police cruiser. "This is a false arrest! Help me out here! If you pay my bail…"

"I'm absolutely disgusted by your behavior tonight, Troy!" shrieked Mrs. Albany, and she began whaling on him with her handbag. From the sounds it made as it collided with his thick skull, it was full of squeaky cat toys.

"Ow! Get offa me, crazy lady!"

"I taught you better than this, young man!"

"Mrs. Albany!" shouted Sergeant Wilcox, pulling her away from the car. "I have to ask you to leave the premises…"

"I'm not leaving these premises, Johnny!" she retorted. "Not when you're falsely arresting my son!" She pointed at Vader. "Honestly, you weren't the brightest boy in my class, but can't you tell an innocent man from a criminal?"

Vader paused in the middle of coughing to stare, shocked, at this complete stranger that had just blatantly lied to a government employee to save his hide.

"That's your son?" Sergeant Wilcox asked, suddenly looking very sheepish.

"My son," she beamed proudly. "He's a good boy. He has no part in this. Now be a dear and let him go, Johnny. Or do I have to remind your fellow officers about some of the shenagins you used to pull when you were in fifth grade?"

Wilcox went slightly pale, and the female officer at his side snickered a little.

Nick, who had somehow managed to avoid the entire situation up until now, stepped forward and began signing. Sergeant Wilcox motioned for a younger officer to come forward and translate.

"He says the six of them – him, these three gentlemen, and the kids – decided to catch a meteor shower tonight and ended up getting lost. They saw lights at the lodge and went there to ask for directions. The Sons of the Sith went nuts and tried to kill them, but they escaped. He doesn't know how the fire started, but he thinks someone might have started it on purpose to cover up whatever they were doing in there."

Sergeant Wilcox looked at Austin, then at his former teacher, then at Nick. He sighed heavily.

"Okay, your stories all jive. I'll release these men into your custody. But the courts'll probably subpoena them for a trial somewhere down the road, so don't get them too comfortable."

Luke's cuffs loosened and came off. He rubbed his wrists gingerly. That had been way too close for comfort. Though it might have been amusing to see what might have happened if the police realized just who they'd taken into custody, particularly if they tried to take mug shots and demanded the masks be removed…

"Hey man, you all right?" Austin asked, going over to Vader, who was still leaning on the police car for support.

"Can't… breathe…" he wheezed. "I need… oxygen…"

"Get him in an ambulance," ordered Sergeant Wilcox.

"He's my son, and he's coming to my house!" snapped Mrs. Albany. "Get him in the car!"

_Break…_

It was past midnight by now, and Vader couldn't help but wonder at the absurdity of the entire situation. The Churches, Powers, Osmonds, Nick Staples, Luke, Fett, Mrs. Albany, and himself were all gathered in the old woman's living room, discussing the events of the day and trying to fit all the pieces together. Nick and Mrs. Albany were most intrigued, having come into the entire story smack in the middle.

Feeling much improved, he finally removed the oxygen mask from his air intake vent. Mrs. Albany's husband had used an oxygen tank up until his death three years ago, but she had never bothered to discard the device. Some might call it a coincidence, but he knew better. When the Force was involved, few things were coincidence.

"Now I know why I couldn't get rid of that contraption," she said amusedly, smiling at him. "I thought it was just that I couldn't bear to get rid of something that had been part of Jerry's life, but maybe it was actually a higher power."

Patrick was shaking his head in a corner. "I still can't believe this entire mess started with a missing cat."

Said cat was lounging in his mistress's lap, purring loudly, eyes closed in bliss as the old woman stroked his fur and scratched him under the chin.

"Yeah, what's up with that, Boba?" Jason asked. "I mean, an old lady's cat? Are you that desperate to go bounty hunting?"

"Drop dead," Fett snarled.

Nick handed a sheet of paper to Luke, who obliged by reading out loud: "'Well, it all worked out for the best, didn't it? The Sons of the Sith have been broken up. And they're all going to prison, I'm sure.'"

"Not necessarily," Austin countered, making sure he was facing Nick as he spoke. "Until they actually find the gemstones, they can't lay today's jewel robbery on them. They didn't exactly kidnap anybody – after all, you all went in that building of your own free will. And I guarantee half of them will be out of jail by tomorrow night – either out on a technicality or having posted bail."

"Their leader's dead; that should count for something," Conrad offered.

"You haven't been here as long as I have, Conrad," Austin replied. "The Sons of the Sith have been through four or five leaders in the past few years. Sure, Quinzain stuck it out the longest, but I guarantee the Sons'll choose a new boss and be regrouped by the time the ashes of the lodge have cooled."

"Don't tell me it was all for nothing," complained Luke.

"It was not for nothing," Vader replied. "We broke them up, Luke. We attacked their stronghold and shook their confidence. Even if they reorganize themselves in the near future, they will never be the same cohesive force again. And without a true Sith at their helm, they'll never again be a great danger to Star City or the galaxy."

"Great, but next time you go saving the city, leave Rachel at home," Diana advised, putting a protective arm around her daughter. "Heaven knows how much this has traumatized her."

"Mommy, it wasn't that scary," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "The fire scared me at first, but I knew Darth Vader was gonna keep me safe. I wasn't scared after that."

Luke gave his father a look that plainly asked "Are you going to tell them?" He shook his head slightly. No need to worry her parents over something Rachel could no longer even recall. If questions arose about her Force sensitivity, then perhaps he'd relate the vision. Until then, there was no use in worrying the Churches even more.

"We can count on you two keeping quiet about this?" asked Austin. "I don't think anyone's going to believe the Sons – they have a reputation for being crazy, stoned, or both – but I don't think we can afford anyone else learning about this."

Nick nodded as if laughing. _/I'm very good at keeping secrets/ _he wrote in large print on his clipboard before lifting it for everyone to see.

Austin smiled slightly. "Luke mentioned you wanted a job with the 'Herald,'" he noted. "If you're still interested, I can have a chat with the editor… I think we still have an empty position in the entertainment section…"

Nick nodded enthusiastically. _/That would be GREAT/ _he wrote. _/I can start immediately/_

"Great." He turned to Mrs. Albany. "What about you, ma'am?"

"You can trust me too," she said, setting Vincent down on the carpet. "I owe you boys for finding my Vincent. All this Star Wars stuff is over my head anyhow, so if I told anyone, they'd just think I had no idea what I was talking about."

Fett nodded. "The return of your cat in exchange for your silence and your aid tonight," he decided. "That is payment enough."

"Oh no, I promised you a reward, son," she replied, reaching into her handbag.

"That's not necessary…"

"I insist, Mr. Fett." Throwing aside several catnip mice and a sack of kitty treats, she pulled out a change purse and handed over a bill.

"Ma'am, the agreed-upon price was twenty," Fett protested. "You're on a fixed income…"

"Oh, keep the hundred, for land's sakes!" she ordered with a smile. "You worked hard for it. You deserve it. I got about five hundred dollars worth of fun out of tonight anyhow."

Luke laughed. "I have to admit, it was pretty satisfying to see you smack that Sons member around tonight."

"Hey everybody, the cat's gonna pounce!" Trapper said eagerly.

Vincent was staring fixedly at a fly that had just landed about half a meter from his nose, crouching like a nexu and eyeing his prey. Everyone went quiet and watched, their curiosity piqued at the sight of the cat stalking his target. Stealthily Vincent arched his back, flicked his tail, laid his ears back, tensed… and coughed up a hairball.

"Ewww!" squealed Rachel. "Yucky!"

"Nasty!" echoed Trapper.

"Goodness!" Mrs. Albany exclaimed, standing and going to the kitchen for some paper towels.

"Well, I'm certainly glad we took a time-out to watch THAT," Conrad said, making a face.

Jason stood and yawned loudly. "Hate to break up the party, but I have to work early tomorrow," he said thickly. "Fett, let's go."

Fett pocketed the bill. "I suggest you two clean up the house after work tomorrow," he advised. "We'll be having religious guests."

Jason gaped at him. "You told Brigham the MISSIONARIES could come to our house!"

"I had to get information out of him somehow," he replied.

Austin laughed heartily. "You can get a lot out of Brigham by simply agreeing to read his literature or let him sic the missionaries on you."

"We'd better skedaddle too," Conrad said. "Rachel's not used to being up this late."

"Neither's Trapper," Austin replied. "Mini-V, to the van!"

"Whatever, Dad," Trapper grumbled.

"Why the foul mood, Trapper?" inquired Vader.

He huffed. "I'm having the coolest summer ever, and my teacher's never going to believe my 'how-was-my-summer-vacation' essay!"

Everyone, even Nick, shared a hearty laugh at that frank statement.

**Author's Note**

When I first wrote "Eye of the Storm," I had no idea it was going to be as popular as it is, nor that I would grow so attached to its characters. But now that the story has spawned a sequel and two spinoffs, I have to concede that it has taken on a life of its own, much like Star Wars itself. And just like Star Wars itself, the characters of "Eye of the Storm" have developed their own back stories. The follow-up stories have allowed me to develop them more as characters and explore new facets of their personalities and their relationships with our galactic friends.

I must confess that, of all the characters, Liberty, Rachel, Brigham, and Cody are my favorites, which is why they tend to get a little more of the "screen time." Liberty and Brigham embrace different aspects of my own life – Brigham my religion and crazy family, Liberty my love of fantasy, music, and everyone's favorite cyborg. Cody is modeled partly after my brother (quirky sense of humor, swift wit) and partly after my uncle (prankster, diabetic but doesn't let it get in the way of a good time). Rachel doesn't resemble anyone I know, but she's an endearing character in much the same way characters like Artoo and Yoda are.

Sons of the Sith member Troy Polowski is not a new character – he has run-ins with Admiral Piett in "Eye of the Storm" and Anakin Skywalker in "Armor of Vader." This is, however, the first time he's had the honor of being addressed by his first name. Darth Ramirez was also first introduced in "Eye of the Storm," and Mrs. Albany and poor long-suffering Vincent garner mentions in "Armor of Vader," though the cat was nameless at the time.

Yes, Quinzain's a real name. I have no idea what it means or where it comes from. And yes, I actually know of someone who goes by it.

Nick Staples is a totally new character, and though my experience with the hearing-impaired is rather limited, it was a fun challenge to put myself in his shoes. I can't say if he'll make it into a future story, but it's always a possibility…

I don't know when (if ever) the next "Eye of the Storm" tale will come out, but I enjoy my jaunts into this alternate universe, and I hope my readers do as well.


End file.
